


Some Secrets Are Meant To Be Told

by emptydistractions



Series: You're the Only Place That Feels Like Home [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, M/M, Positive Views on Sex Work, Sex Worker AU, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, Shrunkyclunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-12-27 07:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 68,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21115025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions
Summary: Bucky Barnes has been an escort since college. It's easy money, he's good at it, and most importantly helikesit. He's even made enough to afford rent on a brand-new, swanky apartment in Manhattan. Was he expecting to move in next door to Captain America himself? No, not really. But Bucky is nothing if not adaptable. And besides, the Captain is cute. It's just too bad that Bucky refuses to mix business with pleasure.Steve's just looking for a little space to breathe when he moves out of the tower and into a new apartment. Somewhere to be himself apart from the Avengers. A chance to be Steve Rogers, not Captain America. And hey, the ridiculously attractive next-door neighbor is just a bonus.It doesn't take the universe long at all to throw a wrench in their plans. Little do the two of them know they're only one drunken meeting away from the relationship of a lifetime.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the 2019 Cap Big Bang! I had such an amazing time writing it.   
Thank you also to my ever-patient, super awesome beta, [Lillaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillaby)! My grammar would be nothing without you.

There was a noise at Steve’s door, sort of a _scratch-bump-scrape_ sound accompanied by the rattle of the doorknob. Maybe, he thought idly, it was someone trying to break in, because why wouldn’t there be criminal activity in his very new, very _private_ apartment building. The doorknob rattled loudly again as whoever was on the other side bumped up against the door. Steve could even make out the occasional muttered curse if he strained his ears enough.

He sighed heavily and slumped further into the couch. He was sorely tempted to just wait it out and confront whoever had to gall to break into his apartment when they finally made it past the door, but the thought of everything that would come with that - a new door, changing the locks, and the _mountain_ of paperwork - was truly appalling.

Maybe they might just go away on their own. It was a faint hope, but hope nonetheless. But then again, if he got up now, it would at least give him something to do instead of spending his evening trying to figure out how long a person could lay on the couch before physically becoming one with the fabric.

He had started the night out with Bruce and Clint and Tony on the promise of greasy takeout food and a few hands of poker, but that had ended rather prematurely. This was mostly due to Clint’s ability to bring disaster with him wherever he went, or more accurately, because of Clint’s dog’s tendency to projectile vomit after getting his paws on at least half a pizza and an entire order of pad thai. It had effectively ended the evening before it had really had a chance to begin. Everyone had scattered after that. The end result of it all - pizza, pad thai, and dog vomit - was that Steve was alone in his apartment on a perfectly good Saturday night, contemplating whether or not 7pm was too early to go to bed.

A muffled thump like a fist hitting wood echoed through the apartment as the door shook again. For a brief moment Steve entertained the idea that it might be Nat, but the thought of her having that much trouble getting in the door, or even her using the front door to begin with was almost laughable. The last time she’d decided to come over with no warning, he’d returned from a run to find her sitting on his couch eating his leftovers. And besides, whoever was on the other side of the door was trying to get in with all the subtlety of a rampaging elephant, and Natasha would rather fall on a sword than make that amount of noise.

_Thunk_. The noise was getting harder to ignore. Steve sighed again and rubbed at the bridge of his nose before reluctantly pushing himself off of the couch. He considered grabbing his shield from its spot beside the door, but then dismissed it. He was more than capable of dealing with this on his own, and after he’d done that, he was _definitely_ going to bed, early hour be damned.

Grabbing hold of the doorknob, Steve turned the lock and yanked open the door in one fluid motion, steeling himself for whatever was on the other side. He’d figured out a long time ago that sometimes the best offense was taking someone by surprise, and it seemed that he’d managed to do just that. Steve had just a moment to take in the sight before the man who’d been pawing at his door wobbled back in surprise and then lost his footing, crashing backwards into an awkward sprawl on the floor.

Steve took a good, long look at the man on the floor. His dark hair complimented his pale skin in a way that had Steve’s fingers itching for a piece of charcoal and a canvas. His head was down, features hidden in shadow, but his clothes were a nice enough quality despite the fabric being rumpled from the fall and who-knows-what-else. Sitting there on the ground, he looked confused and decidedly worse for the wear. He also looked utterly unthreatening, and Steve immediately felt the tension ease off his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked at the same time that the man slurred, “What’re you doing here?”

“I live here.” Steve frowned at the odd question, wariness creeping over him slowly again.

The man shifted slightly, but made no move to get off the floor. However, with that movement, Steve caught the very distinct smell of alcohol. A _lot_ of alcohol. He resisted the sudden urge to roll his eyes, if for nothing else than at his own over-reaction. This wasn’t a break-in at all. It was just a drunk guy who’d managed to wander in off the street. That he’d managed to wander into this building _specifically_ was impressive, and Steve spared a moment to wonder where the hell all his rent money was going to if security couldn’t even manage to secure what’s supposed to be a private floor. He mumbled a quick prayer for patience under his breath because this was supposed to be his day _off_.

“Do you need help?” Steve dropped into a crouch beside the man and _woah_, not only was he clearly intoxicated, but Steve suddenly wondered if it was possible to get second-hand drunk off of the fumes. Steve stuck out a hand, a quiet offer to pull him up.

The man, far from trying to stand, flopped backwards instead, flat onto the floor beneath him. “You live here,” he groaned, putting a hand over his eyes.

“I do,” Steve replied, watching him intently.

“And I live…” The man dropped his hand, revealing crystal-blue eyes that were staring intently down the hall. “…down there,” he finished, resignedly. Steve followed his gaze, looking at the nearest door, and realized with no small amount of amusement that this must be his neighbor.

“Ah. You do?” Steve nodded like he understood, and mostly he thought he did. It wasn’t that hard to figure out what had happened. The guy had gotten tanked and had mistaken Steve’s door for his own. At the realization, Steve felt the rest of the tension leak out of him, only to be replaced with burgeoning curiosity. Now that the situation was no longer a problem, he was content to just let it play out. Besides, Steve could see the man’s face clearly, and he wasn’t exactly sore on the eyes. There were probably worse things that Steve could be doing than talking to his drunk neighbor.

The man groaned again and covered his face with his hands. “I just moved into 403.”

Steve’s mouth worked to keep from smiling. “This is 405.”

“Yeah.” His voice was muffled by fingers. “I gathered that. I think I, uh, lost my sense of direction. And my balance. Possibly my dignity. I’m a little drunk.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he said that last part, like it was some kind of big secret just between the two of them. Steve didn’t have the heart to tell him that between his glazed eyes and the fact that he smelled like a brewery, that wouldn’t exactly be hard for someone to guess.

“Well,” Steve said, smothering a laugh and trying not to smile as he held out his hand again. “I can’t help with the dignity, but I think we can at least get you off of the floor. My name’s Steve, by the way.”

“Bucky,” the man said, taking Steve’s hand and hauling himself to his feet. Standing, he was only a few inches shorter than Steve and even more stunning than Steve had realized. His frame was long and lanky, with a trim waist and tightly muscled legs. His long-sleeve t-shirt clung tightly to his flat stomach and the planes of his chest, and his jeans hugged his legs. Steve looked away quickly, shutting down his thoughts on the matter almost as soon as they had appeared.

“I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but,” Bucky unsteadily shrugged a shoulder, “you know.”

Their hands clasped together, just a touch longer than was probably strictly necessary, before Steve cleared his throat and hurriedly pulled away.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” Steve said. Something in his gut twinged at the thought of just dropping him off and letting him fend for himself. It was a strange thought; Steve wasn’t especially prone to bouts of care-taking or comforting. He’d always left that to others in favor of rushing ahead to the next emergency.

“You’re gonna walk me all 300 feet to my door?” There was a touch of joking sarcasm in Bucky’s voice. Steve didn’t respond, choosing instead to raise an eyebrow and look pointedly at the floor where Bucky had been sprawled out only minutes before. “Alright, alright, point taken,” Bucky said after a minute.

He patted the pockets of his jeans, presumably looking for his keys, while Steve tried very hard not to stare at the way his jeans accentuated the curve of his ass. He wondered how the hell Bucky had planned to get into his apartment without a key in the first place. His tight shirt showed a not-unimpressive chest and arms for someone his size, but he was definitely no match for the solid wood door. If nothing else, Steve supposed it explained all the racket he’d made trying to get into Steve’s place.

After a few more moments of searching, Bucky looked at him, dismayed. “I had it when I left, I swear.”

Steve wasn’t even surprised. “Well,” he said, and then because he’s nothing if not a problem solver, “would you like to come wait in my apartment? I can call the superintendent for you. See if they can’t get you into your apartment.”

Bucky nodded sluggishly, suddenly looking tired, and Steve held out a hand to steady him as he started listing to one side like a slowly sinking ship. “That’d be… good,” Bucky nodded, and the movement seemed to upset his balance even further. “Yeah. Good. Thanks, Steve.”

“No problem,” Steve replied, keeping a firm hand on Bucky’s back as he led him into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind them. Bucky’s footsteps weaved back and forth, his gait unsteady. As they moved, Steve got another strong whiff of alcohol. It was a wonder that Bucky was even standing upright at this point.

“You know,” Bucky said suddenly, turning in Steve’s grasp. And Were it not for Steve’s firm grip on Bucky’s shoulder, it could’ve been an entirely new disaster. “You look really familiar. Have I met you somewhere before?”

Steve had met a lot of people over the course of his life, seen a lot of faces come and go. But he was certain that he’d remember seeing Bucky’s face. The curve of his jaw, the bright blue of his eyes, lively and vibrant even through the haze of alcohol; surely he’d remember that.

“Just one of those faces I guess,” Steve said.

Bucky squinted at him. He’d stopped completely, resisting Steve’s gentle pushes to get him walking forward again. Steve had stopped with him, because the choice was either that or manhandling him onto the couch, and that just didn’t seem polite to do to someone he’d just met. Bucky’s eyes narrowed and his mouth ticked down at the corners as he stared at Steve. Steve bit back a sigh. He knew what came next; he’d seen it enough for a million lifetimes.

Bucky snapped his fingers, his eyes widening in sudden recognition. “You’re Captain America!”

“Yeah,” Steve huffed out in reply, attempting to brush it over and move on. “And you’re drunk. Let’s go ahead and get you sitting before you fall over.”

Bucky wasn’t budging though. He’d stopped staring Steve down and was looking instead at his surroundings. He looked warily at the couch and chairs, the low coffee table and the TV, and the dark doorway to Steve’s bedroom like he expected something to leap out and attack him.

“I’m in Captain America’s apartment,” Bucky said, his gaze roving over the entryway and fixating on the shield leaned casually against the wall by the door. “I’m drunk in Captain America’s apartment. Is…is that legal?”

Steve didn’t laugh, but it was a close thing. He wanted to congratulate Bucky on his crack detective work, but figured that might be a bit of an asshole move. And anyway, while alcohol might not affect Steve anymore, he remembered all too well the cotton-fuzz feeling of his brain after knocking back one too many.

“Minor felony, last time I checked,” Steve said, his serious face lasting mere seconds before he cracked into a grin.

Bucky laughed and the sound made Steve oddly content. It was almost comforting. “You’re not gonna turn me in, are you?”

“Nah, I think I can handle you myself.”Steve winked and then immediately felt himself flush. The back of his neck and the tips of his ears burned hot, and he knew without looking that his skin was bright red. He ducked his head quickly to hide his flaming cheeks and nervously cleared his throat. What the hell was that and where had it come from? Some kind of pathetic excuse at flirting? He could practically hear Natasha’s disappointment from here. Not that he needed any more. He was already disappointed in himself for hitting on a guy so clearly intoxicated. Yeah, Steve was a real _hero_.

Almost as if he could hear the turbulent thoughts tumbling through Steve’s head, Bucky took that exact moment to sag unexpectedly. Normally Steve would have had no problem taking the extra weight - he could probably lift Bucky with one arm and be perfectly fine - but the uneven movement caught him off guard and they both almost went down. Luckily Steve managed to right himself and Bucky at the last minute.

“Yeah,” Steve declared decisively. “Definitely time for sitting.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky mumbled, letting himself go lax as Steve walked him across the room. His face had gone even paler, and the shadows under his eyes looked like bruises against his ashen skin. Steve sincerely hoped he wasn’t about to throw up.

He got Bucky settled on the couch, propped up in between the armrest and a stack of pillows so that he couldn’t possibly tip over. Steve added the blanket from the back of the couch to the stack for good measure before inconspicuously sliding a small trash can from the bathroom within easy reach, just in case. After he’d done all that, Steve grabbed his phone from the coffee table and started to dial.

“Captain… Steve?”

Steve looked over. Somehow, in the two seconds he’d taken his eyes off of him, Bucky had managed to completely rearrange himself. The pillows and blanket were lying in a haphazard heap in front of the couch, and Bucky was flat on his back, one leg flung over the back of the cushions, the other dangling over the armrest, and a pale forearm slung across his eyes. Steve wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten that way so fast, given that he’d left him sitting up and boxed in.

“Steve is fine,” he said.

“Steve,” Bucky repeated. “Can I ask you to be honest with me?” His words slurred together, the booze in his system smoothing away any rough edges.

Slowly, Steve lowered his phone. “Of course. What’s going on?” He wasn’t wholly unfamiliar with people confiding in him. Just another one of the many unexpected side effects of being a national icon.

“Am I the good kind of drunk or the sad, sloppy kind?”

Steve blinked rapidly and let out a surprised laugh. “Um… I’m not sure?”

Bucky’s arm was still over his face, so Steve couldn’t read his expression. “Like on a scale of sipping champagne at the opera to doing body shots of bottom-shelf vodka off a stranger on Spring Break. Where would you put me right now?”

Steve took a moment to consider while trying to hold back the urge to burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all, if only because Bucky seemed relatively concerned about the answer. “Do people drink champagne at the opera?” he asked.

Bucky lifted his arm and cranked open one eye to turn an unamused look on Steve. “I dunno. Answer the question.”

Steve sighed and held up a hand, making a turning kind of motion that said _‘so-so’_. Bucky looked so forlorn at the judgement of his sobriety that Steve felt immediately guilty. “I mean, you haven’t thrown up yet,” he offered in consolation. __

“Hooray for me,” Bucky said dryly, his eyes drifting closed again. “Stay tuned for further developments.”

Steve sincerely hoped that those further developments didn’t include vomiting; he’d had enough of that for one night, thank you very much. The phone trilled in his ear before someone picked up the other end of the line. Steve explained the situation quickly, giving the superintendent his name and number, and kept an eye on Bucky as he talked. He was still lying in that odd position on the couch, limbs flung everywhere, and he seemed more than content to stay that way. His eyes were closed, and it looked like he was trying to control his nausea by breathing shallowly through his nose in a way that made Steve’s own stomach bubble up in sympathy.

“The super will be up here in a few minutes to let you in. Do you have another key in the apartment in case you need to go somewhere before you can get a new one made?” Steve asked after hanging up.

“Somewhere,” Bucky mumbled, waving a hand to brush off the subject. “I’ll find it in the morning.”

Steve very much doubted that Bucky would be doing anything besides nursing a raging headache tomorrow morning, but he kindly kept that thought to himself as he settled into the armchair opposite the couch to wait. Bucky’s eyes opened again, just a sliver.

“So what are you doing here?

Steve grinned cheekily. “I live here, remember? We’ve been over this already.”

“Smart-ass,” Bucky muttered as Steve’s grin stretched wider. “I mean, what are you doing in this building? I thought all the Avengers lived in that… tower thing.” Bucky waved a hand vaguely in the approximate direction of the Tower, give or take a few miles.

Steve tipped his head back, burrowing himself further into the cushy chair. “We do. Or, we _did_. It’s a recent move. I just got…” He paused, thinking. He didn’t really want to explain what _he just_. He didn’t even know if he honestly could. “…felt cooped up,” he finished lamely.

“So you decided to move somewhere smaller?” Bucky asked with just a hint of skepticism in his tone. “I mean, nice sure. But definitely smaller.”

"Not that kind of cooped up.” Steve kept his answer purposefully ambiguous, and Bucky, _bless him_, picked up perfectly on the hint.

"I get that,” he said, starting to nod before seemingly thinking better of it. Even the slight movement had him looking a bit green. “My first apartment in college was a shoebox with one window and walls as thin as tissue paper. I don’t think I went a single night without getting woken up by something, but as far as I was concerned it was a goddamn castle. Sometimes you just need a little room to breathe.”

"Right,” Steve agreed, weirdly touched that Bucky had so quickly put into words exactly what Steve had been thinking. “And what about you?”

Bucky’s mouth ticked up at the corners in a shit-eating grin. “_I live here_,” he said, repeating Steve’s earlier statement in a voice that definitely sounded _nothing_ like Steve’s. “Well, down the hall, actually.”

One of the pillows had fallen onto the floor near Steve’s feet. He kicked it half-heartedly at Bucky, who only managed to put up his hands to catch it a full second after it hit him in the face.

“Hey,” Bucky protested as he shoved the pillow back to the floor. “Don’t you know that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?”

“So now you’re flattering me?” Steve said with a smile. “And here I was thinking you came to my door by accident.”

Bucky grabbed the pillow and threw it back at Steve, who watched as the upholstered missile landed several feet south of its target. “It _was_ an accident. If you can’t overindulge on your birthday, then when can you?” __

“It’s your birthday?”

Bucky nodded. “I can legally rent a car now.”

“Congratulations,” Steve said, deadpan. “You must feel so honored.”

_Twenty-five_, Steve thought to himself. A few years younger than he was if you counted one way, a little under a century if you counted another. He wondered what the laws were on that. Not that it mattered, because he was definitely _not_ flirting with his neighbor.

“If I’d’ve known I would’ve gotten you something,” he said instead.

“Oh,” Bucky said casually, turning and winking at Steve in an impressive display of coordination for someone at the end of a long night of drinking. “I think a conversation with a cute guy is a pretty good gift.”

Almost immediately, Bucky ruined the line by leaning too far and almost tumbling off the couch. Steve was nearly halfway out of the chair when Bucky caught and righted himself. The way his already pale skin whitened even further had Steve grabbing the trash can as Bucky clapped a hand over his mouth.

“You alright?” Steve asked.

“Yep,” Bucky said from between clenched teeth. “Just really regretting that last shot right about now.”

“But not any of the ones before it?”

“No,” Bucky groaned. “Those ones were fun.”

He looked as miserable as he sounded. Steve thought back to his childhood, to long days huddled miserably in bed and retching into a pail. The thing that had helped him most back then had been his Ma’s soothing hand on his back, rubbing circles while she distracted him with all sorts of stories and conversation. He didn’t want to touch Bucky; he barely knew him, so he didn’t know if that would be crossing some sort of line. But talk? That he could do.

“So, Bucky,” he said, deciding to settle on something neutral enough. “What do you do for a living?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked over to Steve, though he was careful not to move his head too much. “Graphic design.”

“You’re an artist?” Steve couldn’t help himself as he sat up straighter in his chair, interest piqued.

“Not really, no,” Bucky mumbled, eyes darting away quickly. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m just good at knowing what people want.”

Steve furrowed his brows, confused. “I don’t-”

The loud knock at his door halted him mid-sentence, and he didn’t get a chance to ask Bucky to explain himself. The superintendent made quick work of Bucky’s door, and once it was unlocked, Bucky was up and stumbling back to his apartment with barely a muttered goodbye. He took the trash can with him, hugging it to his chest as he walked like a child might hold a teddy bear for comfort.

Steve lingered in the hallway, staring at Bucky’s door and feeling strangely…disappointed. Before he returned to his own apartment, he resolved to talk to Bucky again as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

==⍟==

The following week was a whirlwind of activity for Steve. He left early in the morning and came back late at night, and every time he walked down the hall he couldn’t help but stare at Bucky’s door. The problem was that between routine missions, press conferences, the appearance of a rogue Hydra sect, and in one very memorable occasion, a self-proclaimed superhero with an army of cloned, vicious Pomeranians, he barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone talk to his newfound neighbor.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed to not ever cross paths with Bucky in the hallway. He’d also be lying if he said he didn’t occasionally linger on the stairs or stop in front of his door to type out an email or two in the hopes that maybe he’d see him. But regardless of the time of day (or night), he never could seem to catch him. Bucky never seemed to be home, not that Steve had room to talk.

One night, as he was returning home from a long day that involved far too many close calls for Steve’s liking, he was stopped by a sudden impulse. He found himself halfway to Bucky’s door before he realized that he had no idea what he was doing. His brain had gotten as far as _knock_, his fist raised and at the ready, and then he’d… well he didn’t know what exactly. Oh, he knew what he _wanted_, but that wasn’t the problem. It was the process of getting it that had him all tied up in knots. After all, the last time Steve had asked someone out, much less been on a proper date, it had been 1941 and things had changed just a bit since then. It wasn’t exactly like he had a wealth of experience to fall back on either. Back then, even if he’d had the opportunity to take someone out, he’d either been sick and poor or in the middle of fighting a war. Neither of those had been conducive to developing the kind of easy-going charm he wished that he had.

So Steve turned tail and fled back to his apartment. The entire rest of the night he wrestled with the idea, arguing back and forth inside his head. _Do it. Don’t be stupid. What could it hurt? It could hurt a lot._ In the end though, random chance made the choice for him.

He was on his way to the gym early one morning.. Steve didn’t strictly _need_ the gym - the serum took care of that - but he still liked going. For a few mindless hours he could get out of his own head and lose himself in hard work and sweat. It was good for frustration too, and he’d been having a lot more of that lately than he cared to admit. __

As he was headed out the building’s front door, his phone chimed; a familiar sound that meant his plans for the morning had just changed. He checked his texts wearily for the one for Maria. Level three, which essentially amounted to a non-emergency emergency. It looked like the maniac with the Pomeranians was back. He sighed and resigned himself to another busy morning when a familiar sight caught his eye.

Bucky’s back was turned as he stood in front of the mailboxes in the room off the lobby, but Steve recognized him anyway. Bucky managed to cut a unique figure among the residents of the building, with his carefully styled hair and well-tailored clothes. Today, he appeared to be juggling a large black bag as he attempted to unlock his mailbox.

“Need a hand?”

Two things happened almost simultaneously. Steve had only a moment to remember that he no longer lived in a place where everyone was used to how quietly he moved, before Bucky jumped in surprise and spun around, losing his grip on his bag. There was a thud of something spilling out of it as his mailbox key went skittering loudly across the tile floor.

“Fuck!”

Bucky ducked down immediately, snatching up whatever had fallen and stuffing it back into his bag so quickly that Steve didn’t even have time to register what it had been.

“Steve?” he said, looking up in surprise.

Steve put his hands up in a placating gesture. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that. Here, let me get that,” he said, bending down and reaching for the key at the exact same moment that Bucky said, "Don't worry, I got it."

Their identical reaches for the key resulted in the top of Steve’s head colliding solidly with Bucky’s. This time it was Steve’s turn to curse as he reared back. Across from him, Bucky did the same, and Steve reached out a hand automatically to... do what, smooth over the sore spot? Not that he’d object, but he figured that Bucky might, so instead he drew his arm back and stood up in one fluid motion. He handed the key back to Bucky, who had also stood up and was holding a hand to his head. There was a rapidly growing red mark in the dead center of his forehead, and Steve figured he probably looked about the same.

“I am _so_ sorry,” Steve said for the second time that day. He could feel the tips of his ears starting to burn. “Here.”

Bucky took the proffered key, and then by some miracle, smiled at him. “You know, if you wanted to talk to me again that badly, you could have just asked.”

Steve smiled ruefully. “Well, I wasn’t sure how to start up a conversation.”

“Usually with a little less blunt force trauma.”

“I thought that might be a little too boring for you." 

Bucky laughed and rubbed at his forehead again. “I wouldn’t exactly call you boring. You coming or going?” He nodded toward the staircase in question.

“Going,” Steve said. “What about you?”

“Just getting in. I had a, uh, work thing this morning.”

Steve felt his eyebrows creep up. “Do all graphic designers keep such odd hours?”

“I’m self-employed,” Bucky said dryly. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Don’t people know that it’s rude to commit any world-ending crimes before 7am? People are trying to sleep.”

Steve’s bark of laughter took him by surprise. “It’s just a local thing. But if you’d like to write a strongly worded email to any villains you know about acceptable working hours, I’d be all for that.” Steve nodded at Bucky’s bag. “Let me help you with that.”

Steve scooped up Bucky’s bag, which in hindsight he probably should have asked. He caught the quick flash of panic that splashed across Bucky’s features before his expression suddenly smoothed back out. Bucky didn’t say anything, so Steve shouldered the bag carefully, suddenly feeling awkward. He wondered if Bucky had something breakable in the bag that he was worried about. It was surprisingly heavy for its size.

“What’ve you got in here?” Steve asked. “I didn’t know graphic design work included carrying around blocks of cement.”

“You’re hilarious,” Bucky said wryly. “It’s work stuff.” He didn’t show any signs of wanting to elaborate further, and even Steve, thick-headed as he might be sometimes, could take a hint.

“Walk you up?” Steve asked instead, gesturing to the stairs. Bucky smiled and nodded.

“Sure.”

Steve had never been more grateful to live on the fourth floor than in that moment. The stairs were just as nice as the rest of the building; dark, shiny, marble streaked through with different shades of stone. They were wide enough for the two of them to walk together, not that Steve would have objected terribly to the view from behind.

_Wow, Rogers_, he chided himself gently at the thought.

“So,” Bucky asked conversationally. “Anything dangerous happening that I need to know about?”

_Not unless you consider dogs the size of glorified rats dangerous_, Steve thought to himself sardonically.

“Ah... no,” he replied. “I think you’re good to relax on this one. Unless you’re allergic to dogs.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Steve smiled sheepishly at him. “You’re good. The city’s safe. Well, for New York anyway.”

Bucky winked at him, mouth turned up at the corners. “Nothing to make you feel safe in your own home quite like living next door to Captain America himself.”

For a brief second, Steve felt terribly guilty about the thoughts that had been going through his head for the past week. Maybe Bucky was just another person who thought of him as Captain America; the hero, not Steve Rogers the man. And who was he to take that away from him? But… on the other hand, he was fairly sure that Bucky had been flirting with him the last time had they met. At least a little. Steve wasn’t so out of touch that he couldn’t at least recognize the attempt. And today, Bucky was stone-cold sober, so Steve was probably safe to assume that the first time hadn’t been an accident.

“Oh good,” Steve said. “And here I was worrying that I wouldn’t be as useful once I moved out of the Tower.”

“You’re plenty useful,” Bucky assured him, laughing. “Without you, I might’ve spent the night on the floor last weekend.”

“I’m so glad I was able to save you from a morning of back pain and carpet burn.”

Bucky laughed again. “Seriously though, thank you Steve. I…. don’t exactly make it a habit to get that drunk, but my friends kept buying me shots and… you know how it goes.

“Not a problem,” Steve assured him.

They’d reached their floor now. Steve could see his door, and beyond it Bucky’s. Something in his stomach churned. Nerves, he realized somewhat belatedly. He felt young again, and anxious, like the Steve Rogers who at sixteen had asked Angelina Brown to go dancing and had gotten rather vehemently rejected as he recalled. He’d spent that evening getting walloped in the alley behind the school by a few boys throwing rocks at a stray dog instead.

“It’s kind of my job,” Steve joked. “Saving people and all.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had a fantasy or two of being saved by a ripped superhero in my lifetime.” A complicated look flashed across Bucky’s face for just an instant. There and gone so quickly that Steve thought he may have imagined it. “Seriously though. Thank you.”

They were in front of Bucky’s door now. Steve’s mouth was dry, and it felt like a rock had lodged itself in his throat. His grip on Bucky’s bag was so tight he couldn’t feel his fingertips. For a moment they just looked at each other; Bucky waiting and expectant, Steve with poorly disguised panic. After a moment, Bucky’s smile seemed to dim a bit and he looked away before holding out a hand for his bag.

“Well, it was really good to see you again Steve.” Was Steve imagining it, or did he sound disappointed?

_“Go-out-on-a-date-with-me?”_ The words came out in a rush, barely intelligible as Steve’s tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. The few seconds it took Bucky to work out what he’d said felt like a million lifetimes, and had this hallway always seemed this small? _Oh god_. Steve had probably misread the situation, badly. Bucky hadn’t been flirting with him, and now he was either going to have to move or start listening at the door and only leaving his apartment when he knew Bucky wasn’t home so they didn’t accidentally walk past each other in the hallway and-

“Yes.” Bucky chuckled at what Steve assumed must be a very stupid look on his face. “I’d love that.”

“Good,” Steve said faintly, nodding. He felt light, like he might float away. He wasn’t sure he could feel his toes. “Good.”

Once again, Bucky saved him from himself. “You free tomorrow night?”

Steve nodded as he attempted to wet his dry lips with an equally dry tongue.

“Pick me up at six?”

Steve nodded again. He felt like a bobble-head doll. Bucky looked like he was barely containing a smile as he gently pulled his bag from Steve’s numb hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thanks for walking with me.”

Steve felt the life return to him as Bucky’s door closed behind him. Fuck. _Fuck_. Wow. He was Captain Goddamn America. He regularly ran into collapsing buildings and faced down monsters with nothing more than his fists and a metal frisbee. And here he was, taken out by a simple conversation with a cute guy. Tony could never know.

“Tomorrow at six,” he repeated under his breath before running back for the stairs. He was already late as it was.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky couldn’t get his hair to behave. The short strands seemed to want to go every which way except the way that he wanted them. Bucky scowled at the mirror and his reflection scowled back as he made another attempt at flattening the misbehaving strands. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem. He’s made it work with much worse, but his frustration was compounded by the fact that Bucky was stressed the fuck out.

He swiped a hand through his hair one last time and growled in annoyance before giving up. He knew that a little wild hair wasn’t going to ruin anything. And the rest of him looked fine. His jeans were dark denim that clung tightly to his thighs and rode low on his waist. He’d paired them with a tailored shirt that emphasized his chest and shoulders and gave a little definition to his muscles. Objectively, he knew he was hot. Not to mention that if he did his job right (and he always did), his client wouldn’t give a fuck what his hair looked like.

Mirror Bucky looked back at him from behind the glass, his face disapproving. He looked _good_. So why didn’t he feel it?

_Scratch that_, Bucky thought indignantly. He _knew_ full well why anxiety was pooling in the pit of his stomach until he thought it was going to come back up his throat. His fucking neighbor. Captain Goddamn America. _Steve_.

Which... in what kind of world does this sort of thing happen anyway? Bucky just happened to move into his new apartment and end up living next door to what might as well be daily live pornography even in just sweatpants and a t-shirt? Which was what Bucky was pretty sure Steve had been wearing the night that Bucky got trashed and tried to _break into Steve’s goddamn apartment_. Bucky was one hundred percent certain he will never, as long as he exists on the planet, live that one down. The whole thing was so absurd in fact, that he’d been looking for hidden cameras in case this was all some elaborate prank. It would make a hell of a lot more sense than reality.

And Steve. He felt a sort of swooping feeling in his gut whenever he thought of Steve, like the kind you get on the top of a very tall roller coaster. Steve and his face when he’d helped Bucky up off the floor, his smile when Bucky had made him laugh, his quiet sarcasm and shy smile. And his _stupid, perfect hair._

And that was just… unfair on so many levels. Bucky was supposed to be the one who did this to people. He’s supposed to be the one whose smile swept people off of their feet. He’s supposed to drive people wild, not be the one being driven. It was rude of Steve really. Horribly inconsiderate to not even consider that maybe his presence next door was ruining Bucky’s life.

Okay. Even Bucky could admit that that was a tad dramatic. But his point still stood. He’d been doing fine until last week, and last week was when he met Steve, and no one in the world could convince him that the two weren’t related.

His phone chimed softly as he stood there contemplating one of his life’s greatest tragedies thus far. The alert turned out to be email spam, but he still cringed when he caught sight of the time. He should have been out the door ten minutes ago. And that really crystallized his scattered thoughts into perfect, pure clarity. Steve was _distracting_.

Ever since yesterday, since Steve’s bumbling, and frankly adorable attempt to ask Bucky out, Steve had been… Well, maybe not the only thought on Bucky’s mind, but definitely in the top five. He couldn’t stop thinking about Steve. He wasn’t even sure why he’d said yes to the date in the first place, and now he doubly regretted it. Bucky had never been one to get distracted. That was part of what made him so good at his job.

Well, he was damn sure distracted now.

Bucky took one last dejected look at his hair before making a face at the mirror, and then rolling his eyes at his own vanity. He’d like to blame that on Steve as well, but he was pretty sure he’d always been this way. But he supposed there were a lot worse things he could be than vain. Like _late_.

His bag was on the table, exactly where he’d dropped it yesterday after Steve had insisted on carrying it up the stairs for him. Bucky had tensed up the moment that Steve had put his hands on the bag, and hadn’t relaxed until he’d let go. Not that he thought Steve would go through his stuff or anything. He assumed that Steve had some sort of social graces, even if flirting didn’t happen to be one of them.

Carefully, he picked through the bag, making sure anything and everything he could possibly need for the night was tucked safely inside. His fingers sifted through boxes of condoms, different choices of lube, toys and plugs, a length of rope coiled tight, and a few other odds and ends. His client tonight was fairly standard, no special fetishes that he could recall. He knew he wouldn’t need even a quarter of the items, but it was a good kit and he took it to every appointment. The zipper rasped loudly as he pulled it closed, and once again the image of Steve carrying the bag popped into his head. He wondered what Steve would say if he knew. The feeling in his stomach was starting to turn wild, gnawing at his insides. Bucky swallowed hard and ignored it.

It wasn’t exactly an ideal mindset for an appointment. The thing inside of him felt familiar, and the closest feeling to it that he could name was guilt. Which wasn’t fair. Bucky had promised himself a long time ago that he would never feel guilty for his job or for living his life in a way that made him happy. He liked Steve, he really, really did. But he wouldn’t let another person dictate his future. He’d learned his lesson the first time, and he was more than eager to avoid a repeat.

But there was something about Steve. Bucky had only met him twice, but that something, that feeling that Bucky couldn’t explain drew him in like a magnet. Steve in real life wasn’t like Steve on the TV. There was something in his eyes. Something ineffable and invisible that made Bucky want to wrap him up in his arms and hold him tight, or let Steve push him up against a wall and fuck him for all he was worth. Preferably both at the same time.

Bucky chewed anxiously on his lower lip as he shouldered the bag and took a last look around his apartment. _Stop it_, he told himself. It had been fine to keep his thoughts on Steve when he was by himself, but now he was going to work. He needed to have more self control. Besides, it wasn’t like this thing with Steve would work out anyway. He didn’t even know why he’d accepted a date in the first place when he knew where it would end. Disaster, most likely.

_That you could have avoided if you’d just started with the truth_. The voice inside him was soft, almost a whisper. Easy to ignore if he tried hard enough.

_But_, he argued with himself as he locked the door behind him and stepped out into the hall. He could just go on the date. Keep telling Steve lies and half-truths, and if, when he eventually found out, he decided to leave… well, that wouldn’t be Bucky’s fault would it? It wasn’t on him if Steve couldn’t deal with what he did. And if he left then…

_No_. No. He wasn’t doing this. Not again.

Before he was even conscious he’d made the decision, Bucky found himself stalking up to Steve’s apartment. He pounded on the door so hard that his hand ached and his knuckles stung. When the door didn’t open he knocked again, louder this time.

The door swung open and Bucky froze mid-knock. Steve was in front of him, looking unreasonably good for a man wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Again, Bucky was struck by the unfairness of it all.

“Bucky?” Steve’s look of surprise was echoed in his voice, but his mouth turned up at the corners like the surprise was a pleasant one. His crooked smile rolled over Bucky like a wave of warm water, threatening to sweep Bucky up along with it and carry him out to sea. “What’re you-”

“We need to talk.”

Steve’s smile dimmed ever so slightly as concern flitted across his face. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky said. It was in fact very patently _not fine_, but Steve didn’t need to know that. Bucky could feel the words scraping up his throat, threatening to burst from behind his lips if he didn’t say them soon, but with every second that passed he lost more and more of his nerve.

“It’s just-” he continued, glancing down the hallway for any neighbors coming or going. He needed to tell Steve the truth, but he didn’t need to be stupid in the process. “Can I come in? This’ll only take a second, I promise.”

Steve’s expression of concern deepened as he stepped aside to let Bucky in. The inside of the apartment felt familiar and strange all at once; Bucky’s memory of it scribbled over by the heady haze of too much alcohol. There was a clock on the wall that he didn’t remember seeing before, and he winced when he saw the time. He was going to be very late. The unprofessionalism of it all grated at him, but also served to double down on his certainty that he had to do this.

“Bucky, are you sure you’re o-”

“I’m an escort.”

_Simple, straight to the point_. He’d be proud of himself if he could think over the rush of blood in his ears.

“You…” The look on Steve’s face might have made him laugh at any other time.

“A sex worker,” Bucky said. The sudden tension in the room itched like bugs on his skin, and he felt the need to fill the silence. “I provide a service and people pay me for it.”

“A service,” Steve said. He looked like a stiff breeze might blow all two hundred plus pounds of him over. It was almost comical.

“Companionship,” Bucky clarified. “Contact. Sex.”

There was another long silence; long enough that Bucky had time to wonder how long it would take for him to get to Alaska and disappear into the wilderness just to get away from all this.

“Oh,” Steve finally said. He looked around like he was looking for a place to sit before he fell but there was nowhere to go. “Oh.”

At some point, Bucky had crossed his arms defensively across his chest without realizing it. The ramifications of his split-second decision were rapidly and loudly making themselves known. _Fuck_. Fuck. Why had he done that? Because he thought maybe things would work out with Steve if he knew? God, Bucky was an idiot. And what if Steve turned him in? Better to be heartbroken than to be picked up by the police. And of course he was going to turn him in, he was Captain Fucking America, and Bucky was fucked, fucked, fucked.

“So you’re not a graphic designer.”

An odd detail to focus on, but Bucky wouldn’t begrudge him that. He shook his head. “I’m shit with computers. I didn’t even design my own website.”

“You have a website?” Steve’s brow was furrowed so hard that Bucky wondered if it might be permanent. Bucky could have slapped himself. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound as they said.

“I do, but that’s not... I had to tell you, okay? Before… before this goes any further. I shouldn’t have even agreed to a date without saying anything, but I did, and… I needed you to know. And now you do. So… yeah.”

Steve shook his head, like he was trying to shake his brain back into submission. Bucky knew the feeling well. “So you’re an escort,” he said as Bucky nodded. “And do you-”

Bucky knew what questions were coming and he decided to head them off. “No, I’m not desperate for money. I’m not being coerced or blackmailed. I’m not working through some horrible trauma. I don’t owe anyone anything. This is just my job.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded as he took it all in. “Okay,” he repeated, a bit more firm than before.

“And I’m sorry. For coming in here and dropping this on you without any warning. It isn’t very fair, but neither is not telling you.”

“Why are you telling me?”

The question stopped Bucky cold. He stared at Steve; his face was thoughtful, expression open, body language relaxed. He had clearly already absorbed what Bucky had said, dealt with it in some way, and was now finding his footing in the conversation again.

“Because… I’m not quitting. And I won’t be.” He made sure to look Steve dead in the eye to impart how serious he was. “I love what I do. I make good money. I’m safe and I’m happy. And I get it if you don’t want to be around that. You’re entitled to feel that way.”

Bucky swallowed past the lump in his throat that had been there since he stepped in the door. He had conveniently left out the part about Steve also being entitled to turn him over to the police if he saw fit, but Steve had seemed amenable to the idea. Or at the very least, not outright hostile. They’d cross that particular bridge if they came to it.

“I’m not going to stop,” Bucky continued. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m not going to stop doing what I love, but I… I still want to go out with you. If that’s even on the table after all this. And I understand if it isn’t, but if it is, if you still want that date,” he took a deep breath, “I want it too. It’s only fair that you know the entire truth going in, otherwise this doesn’t end well. It never does.”

Steve’s face was indecipherable. Bucky wished he could crack Steve open like a book, read his every expression, and know what it meant the instant Steve made it. Was he mad? Upset? Disgusted? The uncertainty of it was going to be the cause of Bucky’s death.

“That’s... thank you,” Steve finally said. Bucky barely suppressed his surprise as he stared at Steve, waiting for the tell-tale sign that he was lying, that he was just waiting to rake Bucky over the coals. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry about,” Steve waved his hand vaguely through the air, “you know, I just wasn’t expecting this. It caught me by surprise.”

“Most people aren’t expecting it,” Bucky said, and he felt very proud that he was able to keep the bitterness in his tone to a bare minimum.

“Right,” Steve said. He cleared his throat, coughed, and then cleared it again. “I… about the date.”

“Hey,” Bucky jumped in, uncrossing his arms and holding his hands up. “I get it. No harm, no foul, okay?” He was pretty sure that what he felt was crushing disappointment dragging his heart through the mud. His ears were ringing so loudly he could barely hear himself speaking. “Listen, it’s fine. You don’t want to associate with me. I don’t blame you. People have a lot of misconceptions about sex work and you’re…” He waved a hand toward Steve, hoping the gesture got his point across. “…you. It was nice to meet you, Steve. Thanks for everything, okay?”

“Wait!” For the first time all night it was Steve who interrupted Bucky and not the other way around. “Let me finish before you decide what I’m going to say. Please.”

Bucky’s mouth snapped shut.

“I was saying,” Steve said, putting a bit more emphasis on the words than strictly necessary. “About the date. I still want to take you out. If you’re okay with that.”

Bucky’s heart was trying to pound its way out of his ribcage. The rational part of his brain and the emotional part were having a screaming wrestling match, with half of him wanting to stop and analyze the situation and the other half wanting to scream and jump into Steve’s arms. Bucky decided to go with neither of those things for the time being.

“Yes,” he said. “I still want to. I really, really do, but… you need to think about this, Steve.”

“I did.”

“No.” There it was again, the sensible part of him rearing its ugly head and ruining a perfectly good moment. “You need to really think. It may not seem like a big deal right now, but sooner or later it will be. Say this date goes well. Really well. I don’t want to invest myself in this just for you to realize somewhere along the line that you’re not really as okay with this as you think you are.”

“Bucky,” Steve said.

“Please.” Bucky smiled at him softly. “I don’t want your answer right now. I want you to take the night. Give it some thought, some real thought. Please.” He looked at Steve imploringly. “Can you do that? For me?”

Steve sighed and nodded, but he didn’t exactly look thrilled about the decision. “Okay. I can do that.”

The apartment grew silent as both of them stood there, staring at each other and wondering what to say next. The ticking of the clock was loud. Bucky looked at it - another half an hour gone. He was going to have to knock some of the price off for his client after this.

“You’ll think about it?” he finally asked, feeling hesitant even after all that had been said.

“I will,” Steve replied. “I promise.”

Bucky nodded, as close to satisfied as he was going to get with this entire mess. “Thank you, Steve. I have to go, but just…” He smiled tightly, and then on impulse, because apparently that was just the kind of day he was having now, Bucky dashed forward and kissed Steve softly on the cheek. His skin was pleasantly warm and he smelled like laundry shop and dryer sheets.

“I’ll see you soon,” Bucky mumbled, ducking his head and speeding out of the apartment without even a glance behind him. He could only pray that Steve couldn’t see how hard he was blushing.

==⍟==

He felt a little like he’d just been hit with a bomb, and Steve knew that wasn’t an understatement because he’d been hit with more than a few _actual_ bombs in his lifetime. He was frozen, staring at the space that Bucky had occupied only moments ago. Right before he’d fled out of the apartment like the Grim Reaper was on his tail, which was probably pretty rude considering he’d just dropped the equivalent of a ten-ton nuke onto Steve’s so-far fairly uneventful day.

After another minute he was finally able to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Another thirty seconds after that and Steve could feel his legs and feet. He locked the front door, stepping around the spot where Bucky had stood instinctively, like there was something there in his place; a great big Bucky-shaped elephant that Steve couldn’t ignore.

His hands didn’t shake, but it was a close thing as he pulled out his phone, already dialing Natasha’s number on instinct alone. The phone rang once, twice, and almost started a third time before Steve realized with a sinking feeling that he had no earthly idea what he was going to say. What he even _could_ say. He fumbled quickly for the screen to end the call and the phone went mercifully silent.

It wasn’t that he thought Natasha would say anything or do anything. It wasn’t a matter of trust at all, but one of privacy. Bucky had chosen to trust Steve, chosen to tell him something huge, something that had cost a lot for him to say if the look on his face when he’d stood before Steve was anything to go by. And Steve felt… among a myriad of other more complicated emotions, strangely honored to have gotten that trust. He also felt confused and a little bit helpless and little bit like he might throw up, but still, honored.

Steve felt his chest deflate like a popped balloon. It was all well and good to feel happy that he had Bucky’s (hesitant) trust, but that didn’t really help him with the bigger problem, did it? His brain swirled with Bucky’s words. He hadn’t felt more at a loss in a very long time, and the helplessness brought back vibrant memories of running out into the streets of a new New York with no clue as to how he’d managed to leave the old one behind.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing at his forehead with two fingers. He didn’t have a headache, but it was probably the closest he’d felt to one in ages. “Fuck,” he said again, because really _what else could he say?_

Steve gripped his phone tight and wished despondently that he could just talk to Nat about the whole thing. She had a way of talking him through things, of gently guiding him to his own conclusions while never making him feel like she’d led him there in the first place. She was a better therapist than his _actual_ therapist, and he probably would have paid her for the service if she’d let him.

He supposed the fact that he wanted to call anyone at all was a testament to how much he’d grown since coming out of the ice. A sign of progress, his not-Natasha therapist would say. Steve still remembered the time before, when he’d kept everything inside, bottling it up and holding it under pressure until he cracked and split open and all of it came rushing out in an ugly torrent of anger and hurt.

There suddenly was a creaking sound of plastic being bent past its limits, and Steve looked down in surprise to see that his grip on his phone was so tight that he was about to shatter the glass. He wondered if that was some kind of metaphor. Maybe, but he didn’t exactly have the inclination to pick apart that particular emotional knot right.

Bucky was an escort. An entire adolescence of being warned to stay away from women who walked street corners at night flashed through his head in an instant, along with every colorful name in the book. Prostitute. Whore. And other less pleasant things. It had never made sense to him why they were to be avoided, abhorred, and treated like dirt. They were people like everyone else, just trying to eke out what meager living they could during a war that didn’t care about any of them. And Steve had had his fair share of run-ins during the war as well. Beautiful foreign women who lingered around the bars when the army came through. Steve hadn’t known many soldiers who hadn’t gone to bed with them at least once.

But try as he might, Steve couldn’t align those words, those memories, with Bucky. His neighbor with the light blue eyes, biting sarcasm, and overabundance of confidence. Maybe Steve was just as bad as the rest of them. He knew what Bucky must have thought when he’d come to his apartment to tell him; the same thing the entire world thought. That Captain America was _good_ and _wholesome_ and all the other things Steve had never been able to find in himself. Not that it mattered. No one ever asked how Steve Rogers felt about anything.

His eyes burned and his head filled with static as he buried his face in his hands. Colors burst behind his eyelids and shapes swam across his vision as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until it hurt. Bucky was an escort. He was all of those things that Steve had been told his entire life were wrong.

_So what?_ a voice that felt suspiciously like Natasha chided him.

_What if he was? Did it matter?_ another voice there; one that spoke with Tony’s calm self-assuredness, reminding him about the practicalities of it all. It _did_ matter. Try as he might to escape, there was no running from the fact that Steve was in the public eye. A lot. And anyone who was with him would end up there too, no matter how well they hid. Maybe that was thinking too far ahead. Maybe they’d go on their date and discover that they hated each other, although Steve had little hope that such a thing would actually happen. He imagined the headlines, the news coverage, the paparazzi harassing Bucky every time he stepped outside. He imagined people shoving microphones in his face, in Bucky’s face, shouting the nasty things that Steve had long ago learned how to ignore. Did he want to put Bucky through that? Was it even his choice to make?

“Fuck,” he said again as he dropped onto his couch and slumped back into the pillows. “Fuck.”

==⍟==

He wasn’t as late as he feared he’d be, but he certainly wasn’t on time either. Bucky could only be grateful that the trains were running on time today. He slowed down as he approached the hotel, willing his rapid pulse to slow, taking the time to adjust his clothing, and running through a mental checklist before he saw his client. He always made it a habit to shed the weight of his personal life as soon as he stepped through the doors; clients pay to see a perfected version of him, not the one who’s stressed and worried and can’t stop thinking about how Steve is handling all the new information Bucky had dropped on him.

He liked this hotel because it’s got a very convenient side entrance that goes straight to the stairs. He didn’t have to pass through the lobby where some attentive staffer might start to recognize him. It was an unfortunate drawback of his job, always having to be on guard. Nicer hotels were especially vigilant about identifying and reporting escorts; it was good news for their reputation, but bad news for Bucky. Even so, he was always careful to keep the hotels he met at in a rotation, and he’d sorely miss the convenience of this one if he were to get busted. It wasn’t like there weren’t another million and one to choose from in a city as large as New York, but… careful was always better than not.

He paused just outside the side door, pulled out his work wallet, and started digging in it like a tourist who had lost his keycard. Eventually a woman approached the door with exhaustion on her face and a toddler on her arm. She took pity on him, and let him follow her inside with a weary smile. Once he was past the door he packed the wallet away in his bag. Now he was just another patron of the hotel.

He pulled out the older cell phone that he used exclusively for work. It was an older model that he had bought online and kept loaded with prepaid data. His real one was with his real wallet, tucked away and off his person. Just one more layer of security. His client had sent him the room number about an hour ago, and he double-checked the digits before putting the phone away.

The door to suite 605 swung open almost as soon as Bucky knocked, and he stepped inside. The suite was nice; high end, with a tiny living area set apart from the bedroom. It was painted and upholstered in blues and golds that just screamed money, and the bed and furniture were plush and overstuffed. His client was dressed in the remains of a business suit; the jacket was already discarded and the dress shirt was untucked, tie probably long gone. Bucky smiled widely, like the sight of his client was the best one on earth. He quickly stepped forward to greet him with a quick kiss.

He’d been seeing this client about once a month for almost two years now. He said his name was Jacob, but based on the sometimes awkwardly long pauses before he responded to the name, Bucky suspected it wasn’t. He told Bucky he travelled for work and he didn’t wear a wedding ring, but in Bucky’s line of work that didn’t mean much. Not that the details mattered that much to Bucky besides just being trivial facts. It wasn’t his job to pick apart his client’s lives. His job was to provide them with the service that they paid for.

Jacob offered him a glass of the middle-shelf sparkling wine that he always brought with him whenever he met with Bucky, and Bucky gratefully accepted. His nerves were still completely shot from the whole thing with Steve, and not even the familiarity of work was calming them down. The bubbly alcohol burned his throat going down, but he forced himself to sip on it anyway. The only thing that was currently working in his favor was that Jacob had been his client for a long time, and so he knew the routine. It was always less work when the client knew what they were doing. Not that Bucky minded new clients, but sometimes that got exhausting.

Like always, there was a plain white envelope left out on the low table in the living area, and Bucky counted it quickly and unobtrusively before tucking it into his bag. Jacob took a seat on the bed and looked away during the whole process. The money exchange was always one of the most awkward parts of the entire night. No one liked to be reminded they were paying him; it tended to ruin the fantasy. Bucky asked him how work had been going in an effort to soothe over the uncomfortable silence, and Jacob answered gratefully.

When Bucky was done with the money, he crossed the room, joining Jacob, and perched on the edge of the bed. He watched Jacob’s face while he talked and sipped at his wine, letting the words drift past him without much recognition. Jacob was objectively handsome, Bucky could appreciate that. His body was average and his hair was just starting to thin on top, but his jaw was strong and his eyes were a deep green that made Bucky think of a forest after the rain.

Jacob was also a talker. Sometimes Bucky liked that about him, because it was easy to fill up the hours of an appointment with sympathetic nods and hums of understanding while his client chattered away. It was their time after all; they’d paid for it and could spend it as they liked. He’d had entire appointments before that had consisted of little else besides being a warm body to lie beside and talk to. Sometimes though, he thought that sex would be far less exhausting than listening to even another minute of someone else’s problems when he had more than enough of his own.

Tonight he was somewhere in between the two extremes. He listened dutifully while Jacob talked about his current workload, the new guy in his department, and his pain-in-the-ass boss. While Jacob spoke, Bucky found his mind involuntarily slipping back to Steve. He remembered all too clearly the shock on Steve’s face. The uncertainty. He wondered what Steve was doing now. Was he thinking about what Bucky had told him? Had he changed his mind about the date? The fact that he’d still wanted to go at all was still shocking to Bucky, not to mention how quickly Steve had adjusted to the situation and seemed okayed with it. But Bucky was above all things a realist, and he knew that given the time to think properly, Steve would see all the complications of their situation as well. He didn’t hold out much hope for the date after that.

The digital clock on the bedside blinked its bright red numbers at the edge of Bucky’s vision. A quick glance let him know that they’d been talking for nearly 45 minutes. He considered for a moment just letting Jacob keep going, but he liked Jacob, had never had any problems with him, and he’d paid for two hours. Bucky would be remiss to let him waste it. He quickly downed the rest of his drink.

He started small, remembering Jacob preferred that to jumping right in. Slight touches here and there as Jacob spoke, fingers running through the soft, short hairs at the back of his neck. The talking slowed and then stopped as Jacob responded to him, and then they were kissing. Jacob wasn’t a fantastic kisser, but Bucky had done his best over the last year or so to guide his technique so he was at least better than he had been. Bucky would never say a damn thing out loud though, because who wanted to pay for intimacy just to be shamed for it? It was Bucky’s job to lift him up, to make him feel like the most important person in the world. At least for the next hour and fifteen minutes.

After he’d gotten Jacob good and excited, Bucky slid to the floor on his knees as Jacob hurriedly kicked off his dress slacks and underwear. Bucky ran his hands lightly up and down Jacob’s thighs, teasing him lightly before he started to blow him. He made sure to maintain eye contact because he knew that Jacob liked that. Bucky would never begrudge his clients talking and companionship because it was an important part of what he did, but this- this was where he felt the most comfortable. He loved feeling in control and irresistible as he made a person fall apart with his hands and his mouth and his tongue. There was a joy he got from it, a sense of accomplishment and pride when he someone come, when he made them moan and gasp and fall back, out of breath and sated. And that was how he knew, no matter what anyone else said, that there was no shame in what he did. It was what he was always meant to do.

By the time Bucky left the appointment he felt lighter, any lingering nerves still screaming about Steve diminished down to something more manageable in his mind. A dull ache instead of the burning, searing pain that it had been. He was almost happy as he made his way home, or maybe that wasn’t the right word. Content, maybe, or pleased. The feeling lasted his entire trip home and all the way to his front door.

There was a note on the door at eye level so he couldn’t possibly miss it. It was a single piece of paper, edges frayed where it had been pulled from a notebook, folded in half, and stuck to the door with a bit of scotch tape. Bucky pulled it down, curious, and unfolded it to find a messy scrawl.

_Pick you up tomorrow at 7._

_-S.R._


	3. Chapter 3

“…and can we all please refrain from any mentions of classified material? I don’t think any of us are eager to repeat what happened last time.”

If looks could kill, Maria would have killed Clint ten times over by now. She was one of those women with the ability to freeze a grown man solid with nothing more than a glare, and that glare was currently fixated on Clint as he spun in his chair. Steve hid a smile behind his hand, coughing lightly to disguise his snort of amusement and doing his best to seem like he was listening seriously. Beside him sat Tony, typing on his phone at a speed that frankly amazed Steve, and on his other side sat Natasha, absorbed in a paperback that looked like it had been well-loved. Bruce’s seat was empty, the actual man standing behind it, hair and clothes rumpled and shadows under his eyes from too much time in the lab.

Thor wouldn’t be joining them for this particular press conference. It wasn’t a terribly important one, and Thor had been off-world for the last few months. Not that he was any good at them to begin with. His loud nature and less-than-ideal general grasp of human culture was a constant source of amusement, but when mixed with a sea of shrewd reporters, it could do more harm than good. Personally, Steve thought it was already a little overkill to have all of them present just to discuss the rise in crime statistics, but Fury had wanted them all and so here they were.

Clint, as usual, was immune to any and all criticisms. He grinned at Maria and shot her a cheeky salute. “You got it, boss.”

“I deserve a raise for putting up with you,” Maria muttered, and secretly Steve didn’t disagree with her. Managing the day-to-day of a team as stubborn and outspoken as the Avengers was a job he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. But still, she was fantastic at it.

The door between the room they were in and the press room didn’t do much to suppress the general hum of the crowd of people on the other side. The noise swelled as the clock ticked closer and closer to starting time and more reporters piled in. Steve was very proud of the fact that the thought of it no longer had him breaking out in a cold sweat. He was adjusting to the news coverage in this century, although he still found it incredibly invasive compared to what he’d dealt with back in the 40s.

Maria checked her wristwatch as she opened the door just a crack to peek out. The noise of people shuffling in their seats became louder, along with the occasional click of a camera shutter.

“Five minutes,” she informed them after shutting the door. She quickly hurried out of the room to attend to what was probably a life-or-death situation of some sort.

“You know the day she decides to kill you none of us are going to stop her, right?” Tony asked Clint idly. Clint’s response was to grin widely and kick off, making his chair spin even harder. Eventually he put his foot down and screeched to a stop, with a perfectly aimed pen cap bouncing off of the center of Tony’s forehead in the process.

“You’re just jealous because you know I’m her favorite.”

“Favorite pain-in-the-ass is still a pain-in-the-ass,” Tony retorted.

Steve laughed out loud, and then ducked as Clint launched the rest of the pen at him. “Hey, I’m not a part of this!”

“You’re commiserating,” Clint said accusingly as Bruce chuckled.

“So, Steve.” From beside him, Natasha started to speak without looking up from her book. “What was that phone call about last night?”

He managed not to wince, but only just. He should’ve known he wouldn’t get away with calling and hanging up like that without any questions, but his hope always sprang eternal when it came to his personal life. He also wasn’t surprised that she’d brought it up around the others; it was a subtle punishment for hanging up in the first place. He really needed better friends.

“Just wanted to get your advice on something,” he said. It was technically the truth. He’d discovered after _a lot_ of trial and error that the best way to lie to Natasha was to not do it at all. “But I got it figured out.”

“Advice on what?”

His quick prayers that she would leave it alone went unanswered, as he’d assumed they would.

“Personal things.”

She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow and Steve sighed. As much as he wanted to keep it to himself, he knew that fessing up now would save him a heap of trouble later.

“I asked someone out on a date.” Again, the truth, if not all of it.

“Oh?”

“A date?” Tony jumped into the conversation. “Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me that you’re going on your first date in 400 years and you called someone who literally uses the name _‘widow’_ instead of me?”

Steve made an exasperated face. “I’ve been on dates, Tony. And I’m barely 100.”

“Tony,” Clint added. “You must be confused. He wanted advice on a _date_, not on how to scare a person away.”

“And I promise if I ever need to convince a person to not like me, you’ll be my first call,” Steve told Tony with a cheeky smile.

“I am so underappreciated in this team,” Tony muttered, going back to typing on his phone at light-speed while Clint cackled with laughter.

Natasha waited a few minutes until everyone had settled down and gotten absorbed in their own tasks before asking him quietly, “So what was the call actually about?”

Steve huffed in amusement. “It really was just for advice, if you can believe it.” Natasha looked like she most definitely did not. “But I promise, I’m figuring it out, okay?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “You know I’m going to find out, right?”

“I’d expect no less.” Steve smiled and then lapsed into thoughtful silence before saying, “Just… give me a few days before you start digging, okay? I’d really like to get to know this guy on my own.” It still amazed him, even after all this time, that that was something he could say freely now and no one so much as batted an eye.

She nodded, just the slightest incline of her head to acknowledge that she’d heard. “Alright,” she said. “You know I’m here when you need me.”

Steve didn’t have a chance to answer. At that moment, Maria came through the door and shuffled them into the press conference.

==⍟==

Steve was nervous.

It was kind of cute. Bucky couldn’t quite bite back his smile at the slight hint of sweat on Steve’s temple as he stood in Bucky’s doorway. Sure, he’d seen sweat drip off of those high cheekbones and cling to the broad curve of that jaw on the news; practically the entire world had. But it was still a little funny. Captain America, working up a sweat over a date with Bucky Barnes.

“Hi,” Steve said. His voice didn’t betray a hint of whatever anxiety he might be feeling. Bucky liked that. In his experience, confidence could make up for a lot of things.

“Hey,” Bucky smiled at Steve, and then held up a finger. “One second, and then we can go.”

Bucky spun around and walked away, feeling Steve’s eyes on him every second of the way. _Good_. He made sure to put a little extra into the sway of his hips as he walked. Bucky knew how to dress and he could use his sexuality like a weapon, but going on a date with Steve didn’t exactly feel like riding into war. Tonight he’d dressed simply; a soft, cashmere sweater in a deep blue that brought out his eyes, and tight jeans that accentuated the long lines of his legs. He smiled quickly to himself again as he grabbed a pale grey scarf and his keys from the table near the door.

Steve didn’t look half bad himself Bucky thought as he wound the soft fabric around his neck. Steve had chosen simple as well, with faded blue jeans that clung to his muscled thighs and a muted green long-sleeve t-shirt.

Bucky pulled out his gloves as they exited the elevator, heading for the wide double doors at the end of the lobby. “Won’t you get cold?” he asked as he tugged on the supple leather.

Steve shook his head ruefully, one arm extended as he held the door open for Bucky. “I run a little warm,” he said, ducking out onto the street in front of the closing door.

Outside, it was a perfect mid-fall night. The air was crisp and cool, with just a hint of winter chill on its way, and the occasional burst of wind that was enough to make anyone normal bury their faces in their scarves. Despite the warmth of his clothes, another gust of wind bit coldly at Bucky, but Steve, true to his word, seemed completely unbothered. Subtly, Bucky shifted his body closer to Steve’s, like a cat searching out the only spot of sun in the room.

He let Steve lead the way once they were out on the street, unsure of where exactly they were going. They walked in a comfortable silence for a block, and then another, as Bucky looked around in curiosity. He wondered where Steve was taking him. What exactly did Captain America do on a date? Judging by Steve’s dressed-down look, they weren’t going anywhere fancy, and Bucky could honestly say that he was thankful for that. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being occasionally wined and dined, it was just that he wasn’t sure he could sit through one more under-talented, over-pretentious chef explaining the use of _seaweed foam_ if he wasn’t at least getting paid at the end of the night.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Steve. Bucky just wasn’t if sure he liked _anyone_ that much.

They ended up a few blocks away from the apartment building. The place Steve had brought him to was new; the kind of boho chic bar and restaurant combos that were popping up all over New York City. Bucky had never been to it, and he’d been nearly everywhere within walking distance. He wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, and a busy schedule combined with a full wallet resulted in him nearly always paying someone else to make his food.

They exchanged polite small talk as Steve snagged them a small, private table by the back of the dimly lit bar. A waitress with dyed blue hair and a pierced eyebrow who looked like she came standard with the décor brought them their drinks.

Finally, when they were settled comfortably with their drinks - Steve a tall glass of whatever beer was on tap and Bucky a vodka lime and soda - Bucky took a deep breath, placed his hands flat on the tabletop, and looked Steve in the eye. “Alright Steve. This is your chance. Ask whatever it is you wanna ask, and I’ll answer what I feel comfortable answering. And I won’t tell you anything personal about my clients.”

For a moment, Steve looked frozen, his hand wrapped around his glass that he had lifted halfway to his face mid-drink. Then he blinked hard, and as the shock of Bucky’s sudden statement seemed to wear off, Steve’s face smoothed over into an interested, curious expression. He lowered his glass to the table, setting it down onto the wood with a heavy _thunk_.

“Straight to the point, huh?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, because it was. The last few years had made him blunt when it came to his job and dating, and he’d learned early on that saving this conversation for later only ever ended badly.

“Okay.”

Steve sat back and folded his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face. Bucky watched him carefully. He liked Steve, he really did. At least, what he’d seen so far of him. But he hadn’t seen much, and that was the rub, wasn’t it? The next few minutes, and what Steve said, would tell Bucky more about him than a thousand tabloids could. Steve’s eyes were on him too, and Bucky wondered what he was thinking, what questions Captain America would have for him.

They might have continued like that for hours, staring each other down, sizing each other up, if the waitress hadn’t stopped by to ask them if they’d like another drink. Steve huffed out a small laugh as she walked away from the table, and the moment was officially broken.

“I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting you to be this open about it,” he said, one hand scratching idly at the back of his neck. “Kind of threw me for a loop.”

Bucky sighed. “I’ve tried it the other way before.”

“Not being open?”

“Yeah. It didn’t go so great.”

Steve didn’t ask, which was good, because Bucky wasn’t about to share the details of his past relationships in the first ten minutes of a first date.

“So,” Steve said. There was the slightest movement of one of his hands on the tabletop. Just a twitching of his fingers, like he wanted to drum them across the wood but was restraining himself. He swallowed heavily before speaking again. “Any questions I have?”

“Within reason.”

“Are you safe?”

Bucky nodded and ran a hand through his hair as he answered. “I require condoms for any kind of penetration. Blowjobs I’ll do bare. I don’t love it, but it’s an industry standard. Requiring condoms for sex isn’t, but for me it’s a hard rule. No negotiations, no paying extra, and the first time someone tries to break it they’re no longer a client of mine.”

There was just the slightest tinge of pink to Steve’s cheeks. “Uh, that’s-” he cleared his throat, “-that’s good to know, but I actually meant more are _you_ safe?” He waved a hand vaguely in the air, indicating Bucky.

And that… was not what Bucky had been expecting as far as first questions go, but he supposed it wasn’t a bad one. It was actually kind of sweet, when he thought about it, that Steve was concerned for his safety. Although maybe that was just a side effect of being a superhero - constant worry for the people around you.

“The best I can be,” Bucky said, after a moment of contemplation. “I use a fake last name and have a separate phone and computer that I use for all client interactions. Payments are in cash or online transfer. I always try to thoroughly vet my potential clients before I ever meet them, and even then I need a face-to-face meeting in a public place before I’ll agree to take them on as clients. I provide my own transportation to any appointments with a few very specific exceptions.” Steve was watching him with a thoughtful expression. “There’s other things as well, but you can believe me when I say I take my own safety very seriously.”

Steve looked satisfied with the answer as he nodded and gave him a small smile. Bucky felt the smallest bit of warmth bloom in his chest, and he resisted the urge to duck his head. Luckily, Steve saved him from having to do anything by asking another question.

“How often do you work?

Bucky considered the question for a moment before he answered. “It varies. Depends how much I get paid. Back when I first started I didn’t make that much for an appointment, so I had to take more of them to make ends meet. I charge a lot more now, but it still depends on the type of appointments I’m booking. If they’re standard, I’ll do a couple a week. An overnight will pay my electricity bill. If I get a whole weekend that’s two months rent.”

Steve had finally relaxed enough to resume drinking his beer. He finished swallowing before fixing Bucky with a curious look. “A weekend?”

“They’re rare, but they do happen. Most people either can’t afford them or can’t afford the time off.”

Steve made a humming noise in his throat in lieu of a proper answer, but it was enough to let Bucky know he was listening. “Do you only see men?”

Bucky laughed into his drink and then smiled. “I’ll see anyone with a wallet.”

For a moment Steve looked unsure, but then he snorted in amusement. The more Bucky talked to him, the less he resembled the stiff figurehead he’d seen on the news and in public service announcements, and it thrilled Bucky to no end to be able to uncover this side of Steve. He smiled at him again as Steve regained his composure.

“What high standards,” Steve finally said. “Do you though? Have a preference?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not when I work, but I do have a lot more male clients than female. That’s just the way it goes sometimes.” He tipped his head to the side as he watched Steve take another swallow of beer, the long lines of his neck strangely mesmerizing in the low light of the bar. “I don’t in my personal life either. I think I’ve just always loved people.”

Steve grinned at that, and Bucky had to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking the same question. _There would be plenty of time for that later_, he hoped. And wow, he really did hope that there would be a later to this date, that this wouldn’t all be too much for Steve to handle. But so far he hadn’t run. Bucky watched as Steve ran a finger down the side of his glass, gathering condensation on the tip.

“Is it difficult?”

“Hmm?” Bucky only half-heard the question, still mesmerized by the movement of Steve’s hand on the glass. His fingers were long and surprisingly graceful for someone who made their living through brute strength.

“The job,” Steve clarified as Bucky finally shifted his gaze back to Steve’s face. “Is it hard? Do you enjoy it?”

“Do you enjoy your job all the time?” Bucky shot back with a raised eyebrow, mouth ticked up slightly at the corner.

“Ah, no,” Steve replied with a sheepish smile.

“Exactly.” Bucky’s glass was nearly empty, and he tilted the cup this way and that, listening to the ice clink at the bottom. “It’s just a job. I mean, when I first started I loved every second of it. After my first few bookings, I literally came home, threw the money on my bed, and rolled around on it.” Steve snickered and Bucky made a face at him. “Yeah, I know. But I was young and on my own and earning more money in a night than I made in a month at my crappy retail job. But…” He shrugged and pushed his glass firmly down onto the table. “It’s less glamorous these days. Or maybe I’m just more used to it. Plus, there’s a lot of things you take for granted when you work a regular job.”

“Like…?” Steve prompted him.

“Getting a bank account. It’s hard to get loans or be approved for leases. I had to make up a business and list myself as self-employed for the paper trail. Officially I’m a freelance graphic designer.” He sighed. “It’s like everything else really. Some weeks I’m being wined and dined in fancy restaurants and paid to be someone’s arm candy, and other weeks I’m listening to a man complain about his mother-in-law for three straight hours.”

Steve’s mouth twisted in a frown and Bucky sighed inwardly, bracing for the question he knew was next.

“You see married men?”

“Married _people_,” Bucky reminded him. “And yes.” He refused to back down, even under Steve’s rapidly disapproving stare. Bucky stared straight back, unflinching. “I don’t love it, but it’s necessary, and it’s a fair amount of my client base.” He sighed again and softened his tone, willing Steve to understand. “As much as we like to think it’s not, sex is a basic human need. A lot of people love their spouses, but for various reason they don’t have sex. For people who don’t want to stray, sex work is a great way to get their needs met. It’s safer than a random hookup, it’s discreet, and they don’t have to worry about any emotions getting involved.”

He ticked off each point with a finger as he made it, and although Steve’s brow unfurrowed a little, Bucky could tell he was still put off before he even opened his mouth.

“Listen.” Bucky cut Steve off before he could say anything. “I’m not interested in a moral lecture. If this doesn’t work for you, that’s fine. Better we figure that out now than later. But I told you before and I’ll tell you again; I won’t compromise my job for you.”

For a moment Steve held his body tense, but then he suddenly relaxed and blew out a long sigh. “I can’t pretend I like it,” he admitted.

“You don’t have to like it.”

He could practically see the moment that Steve made his decision. Maybe it was something in his posture, or some kind of minute expression, but whatever it was had Bucky letting out a breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding.

“So, fancy restaurants, huh?” Steve said, and cast an appraising eye at their trendy but decidedly not expensive surroundings. “This must be a step down for you, I guess.” It might have been Bucky’s imagination, but it seemed like there was just a hint of something sad in Steve’s voice.

“Actually,” Bucky said, his eyes tracing the same path as Steve’s. “I love it.” He glanced back at Steve, who was suddenly trying to hide his pleased expression behind his mostly empty glass. Luckily for him, their waitress reappeared to refresh their drinks, providing him with ample coverage. “I never get to relax like this. And besides,” he said as he flashed a cheeky smile at Steve, “the conversation’s much better.”

Steve smiled into his drink one more time before setting it down. “Dinner and conversation,” he said, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Does that mean it’s not always sex?” Any hint of shyness or embarrassment he may have felt at the beginning of the conversation seemed to have dried up as he waited in earnest for Bucky’s response.

“That’s right,” Bucky said. “Some people - the majority of people - hire sex workers for, well, sex. But people come for other reasons too. A lot of them are too shy, or too anxious. A lot of them are lonely. Some just want someone to talk to; someone who’s going to listen and at least act like they care. Some crave intimacy, even non-sexual intimacy. And I can give them that.”

“Does anyone ever get… too attached?”

“You mean, do they fall in love?” Steve nodded. “It happens. Not all the time, but it happens. Some people can’t untangle sex from emotion. And honestly, it’s usually not a big deal as long as the client understands that nothing more is going to happen.”

“You would keep seeing them?” The concerned look was back again, and Bucky felt the sudden urge to reach out and smooth out the furrow between Steve’s eyes.

“They can be my best customers,” he said instead with a small shrug. “The more they like you, the more appointments they book. And besides, it’s nice to be wanted.” He flashed a quick smile to let Steve know he was mostly kidding.

“Isn’t your whole job about want?” Steve asked anyway.

“Yes,” Bucky sighed. “But again, people want different things. Sex, attraction, me. Hell, some people are there to work out some issues, even if they don’t know it. I’m not crazy about those. I’m not exactly a licensed therapist.”

“I read that some sex workers-” and Steve phrased it so delicately that Bucky was immediately wary. Steve had the very distinct look of a man walking on eggshells, and Bucky already knew he wasn’t going to be impressed with whatever came next. “Some sex workers,” Steve continued, “have been abused. And some haven’t. I don’t assume they’ve all been abused but…” He backtracked quickly and Bucky congratulated himself on his great restraint in not rolling his eyes. “Were you?”

Bucky tipped his head to the side and met Steve with a steady, even gaze that betrayed absolutely nothing. “Would it matter if I was?”

“I… I guess not,” Steve said slowly.

“Good,” Bucky replied firmly. “Then it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t for the record,” he added after a beat. “But no one asks an author if they were abused by books as a child.”

Steve had the good grace to at least look a little abashed. “Ah... good point. I’m sorry.”

Bucky waved away the apology. “’S fine. I told you at the beginning to ask whatever you wanted to know, even if there were things I wouldn’t answer. I’d rather you get all your questions out now. So what else ya got?”

Steve rubbed a hand against one side of his chin as he thought in a move that had Bucky surreptitiously admiring the strong line of his jaw and the golden-tan skin just beginning to darken with 5 o’clock shadow. Even in the dim lighting of the bar his eyes had a particular kind of sparkle to them. Bucky was definitely a fan.

“I think you’ve covered most of it,” Steve said. “Besides…” he trailed off, his eyes focused somewhere over Bucky’s left shoulder as he thought. Bucky waited patiently until Steve spoke again, so quietly he almost missed it. “Are you happy?”

Warmth, and not just from the alcohol, buzzed through Bucky’s veins, lighting him up from the inside. “Yeah.” He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. “I am. I really am.” Steve was silent, so Bucky continued, peering down at the remnants of his drink as he spoke. Light from overhead caught on the shards of ice, shifting and shining, making the dregs of the drink into a work of art. “When we’re kids,” Bucky began slowly, searching for the right words and acutely aware of the intensity of Steve’s gaze. “People are always asking, ‘What do you want to be? What do you want to do with your life?’ And the answer is always, ‘I don’t know.’ But that’s a lie, isn’t it? Everyone wants to be happy. That’s it. Maybe that happiness looks different for you than it does for me, but we want it all the same.”

“Maybe not that different,” Steve murmured quietly, and Bucky fought back a blush that threatened to rise to his cheeks.

“Well I did it,” he told Steve. “I found the thing that makes me happy. I know a lot of people have a problem with it. And maybe one day it won’t make me happy anymore and that’s the day I’ll quit. But not a single second before that. Which I suppose is all a convoluted way of saying, yes. Extremely.”

Sometime during his speech, Bucky’s hand had come to rest on the tabletop. His fingers were cool from holding his glass, with the worn wood of the table smooth beneath them. Slowly at first, as if he was watching for refusal, and then more confidently when none came, Steve reached out a hand of his own and laid it over top of Bucky’s. His skin radiated warmth, and left Bucky with the feeling of sitting by a fireside on a cold, wintry day. Steve squeezed gently at his hand. Bucky flipped his own hand over to wrap around Steve’s and squeezed back. Everywhere their skin touched felt like fire.

“You mentioned college earlier. What did you go to college for?” Steve asked, and just like that, the moment was over. Bucky’s skin felt bereft as Steve pulled his hand back, and he did his best to not let his disappointment show on his face. Besides, there was actually something important that he had to address before this could go any further.

“Before I answer that,” Bucky said as he looked at Steve and made sure that Steve was looking back. “Are you sure that you don’t have any more questions about my job?” He made sure his voice was firm, though truth be told, if Steve did come up with another question or two, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t answer them. He just wanted to be sure they were done with business so that they could get on with pleasure, that was all.

Steve shrugged, one massive shoulder coming up nearly to his ear. “Not really. I think I know enough about your job. I kind of just want to get to know you now.”

That did something to Bucky, something that felt like carbonation in his blood; effervescent bubbles racing through his body and fizzling happily in his fingers and toes and all the places in between. Before he’d left his apartment, Bucky had promised himself that he wouldn’t get his hopes up. But already Steve was surprising him with his openness and honest, respectful curiosity. Bucky felt well and truly on his way to falling for Steve Rogers, and it had only been a few hours.

It was different than the past. Bucky had grown wary of dating over the years, tired of the men and women who claimed they could handle dating a sex worker, only to prove themselves wrong within a few weeks. And then there were the ones who never even made it that far; the ones who peppered him with questions about the sex, about the money. The ones who asked for the dirty details and listened with lust in their eyes. The ones who fetishized him but never bothered to get to know him. Or even worse, the white knights who imagined themselves the hero, saving poor Bucky from a lifetime of debauchery despite the fact that he was quite adamant that he’d like nothing less.

There was still something left though, something that Bucky couldn’t, and wouldn’t, ignore.

“What about you?” he asked Steve quietly. “Now that you know more, are you still sure you wanna do this?”

“Do I still want to be on a date with my incredibly attractive, intelligent, and charming neighbor who nearly threw up in my apartment the first night I met him?” Steve asked, pulling his mouth down in faux concentration. “I can’t really think of any reason why not.”

“Seriously,” Bucky said, giving Steve a look. “It’s more complicated than that for you. Don’t do either of us the disservice of pretending it’s not. We can say all the pretty things in the world, but at the end of the day, sex work is still illegal. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about how that would look. Captain America with a hooker.”

Steve’s mouth twisted and he looked like he’d tasted something sour. “I have,” he admitted. “It’s all I’ve thought about. That night you told me. And I’m not saying it’ll always be easy. But I’d like to try.” He eyes were locked on Bucky’s gaze, the normally clear blue now dark and intense. “If you’re willing.”

Bucky’s mouth was inexplicably dry. He took a long swallow of his drink and the vodka burned his throat. He nodded.

Steve relaxed, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders, and his eyes were suddenly clear again, bright and vibrant like a rain cloud fleeing before the sun. “Okay, then.” He smiled, and then said, “Besides. I’ve always thought it should be legal.”

Bucky felt his own muscles go lax as a kind of relief that he didn’t know he was waiting for flooded through him. It was over, they’d done it. He’d told Steve the details, answered Steve’s questions, asked Steve some of his own, and still Steve was in this. The bar felt warmer than it had before; the entire room narrowed down to just the space between him and Steve, to their words and looks and shared glances. Everything was fuzzy at the edges, faded out like it didn’t matter, like it was just backdrop.

At some point their waitress must have returned again. Bucky had a full glass. He wasn’t even sure when that had happened. “Strangely liberal for someone born in 1918,” he joked.

“You know my birthday,” Steve said with a mock gasp. “I’m touched.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows your birthday. It’s a national holiday.”

Steve grinned and shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve never liked rules very much.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow in silent question, but Steve just laughed and took a drink of his beer. “Are you telling me all those PSAs they’ve been making are a lie?” Bucky asked.

Steve laughed like he’d been taken by surprise, nearly choking on his beer. “Oh man,” he said. “I hate those things.” He leaned over the table, like he was telling Bucky something secret. Up close, Bucky could feel the warmth of his skin and smell the beer on his breath. “Tony’s got a whole film reel full of takes I ruined by cursing. He said one day he’s going to replace all the broadcast versions with more interesting ones.”

Steve’s eyes crinkled up in the corners when he smiled. Bucky couldn’t stop staring at them, couldn’t stop the grin that split his own face. When Steve sat back into his own seat, Bucky felt pulled to him like a magnet, fighting the desire to chase down Steve’s warmth and soak in it.

“Now,” Steve said, when he looked like he’d settled in comfortably. His posture was relaxed, body language infinitely more casual than it had been before. “College. I wanna know.”

“Bachelor of science in civil and environmental engineering,” Bucky replied.

“Wow.” Steve’s eyes were wide. “That’s nothing to sneeze at. What are you planning to do with it?”

Bucky scratched idly at his cheek as he thought. “Nothing right now,” he finally said. “Like we talked about, I’m happy with my work. But I think one day I might like to go back to school. Get my Master’s.”

“I never finished school,” Steve said. “My Ma and I, we didn’t have a lot of money. I needed to work, and then the war came, and I guess after that it didn’t matter.” He shrugged and smiled ruefully.

“What’s stopping you?”

For a moment Steve froze, and then slowly he said, “You know, I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that.”

Bucky smiled. “So,” he repeated. ”What’s stopping you?”

“Nothing,” Steve admitted, and then muttered, “Smartass” into his drink.

Bucky grinned at him, and then felt a light tap on his shins as Steve playfully kicked him under the table.

“Well anyway,” Steve finally said. “It’s something to think about.”

“What would you go for? If you did go,” Bucky asked curiously.

“Art.” Steve answered without hesitation.

“Do you paint?”

“Some. Acrylics usually, when I have the time.” Steve’s face lit up in a way that it hadn’t for the entire night as he spoke. “I’m not a huge fan of watercolors. I mostly draw. Pencils, mainly. Black and white. Trying to get the hang of charcoal, but I feel like I get more on my hands than on the actual paper.”

Bucky glanced quickly at Steve’s hands, imagining those long, slender fingers wrapped around a piece of charcoal as he drew furiously at a canvas. He could see it clearly; Steve with a pencil tucked behind his ear and messy streaks of black and gray across his face and arms, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked to get a line just the way he wanted it.

Bucky’s mouth was like a desert it was so dry. He took a long drink, and willed the enticing images of Steve away. “How long have you been doing it? Since you got back?”

Steve laughed like Bucky had told a particularly funny joke. “Nah, been drawing since I was a kid.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. A good pencil and a notebook were like gold to me those days. Cost about as much too. But somehow we always had just enough…” For a moment his smile was bittersweet before it brightened again. “When I was on the front I used to carry this notebook around in my pack. Draw whenever I was bored. Filled that thing up front to back. Well, I guess after I went into the ice someone must have saved my stuff, because some of it ended up at the Smithsonian.”

Bucky nodded. He remembered the opening of the permanent exhibit, and although he’d never been himself, he definitely recalled his sister talking his ear off about it.

“But,” Steve snickered, his face mischievous, “last year the museum gave me back some of the more ‘personal’ items. Notebook included. I noticed it was… missing a few pages.”

It took Bucky just a touch too long to put together the words. _Probably about time to lay off the vodka, then._ “Steve!” Bucky said with as much fake drama as he could muster without breaking into laughter. “Did the Smithsonian have to _censor_ your notebook?”

Steve shrugged noncommittally and took another drink.

“Steve Rogers, were you drawing dirty pictures?”

“Well,” Steve said. “We didn’t have the internet. We had to keep ourselves entertained the old-fashioned way.”

Bucky wasn’t sure who started laughing first, him or Steve, but both of them collapsed into fits of laughter. Bucky’s good mood was aided by the smooth buzz of alcohol in his blood and the warmth in his chest as he took in Steve’s face, eyes scrunched in at the corners with laughter.

“Will you draw me?” Bucky asked as soon as he was able to take a full breath.

Steve gave him a lascivious look that had Bucky’s heartbeat thumping in his ears. “I think we could work something out.”

A sudden thought made Bucky snort in amusement, and Steve looked taken aback by the abrupt change in tone. “I’m sorry,” Bucky said, waving an apologetic hand towards Steve as he snorted again, fully aware that he was ruining a perfectly good, flirtatious moment. “I just can’t stop thinking how disappointed my mother would be to know that I just offered to let Captain America draw me naked. And that _he said yes_.” Bucky barely got the words out between fits of giggles.

Clearly trying to suppress a grin, Steve fell back into his seat and let out a loud, dissatisfied noise. “Well, the offer’s off the table then. Can’t be disappointing your mother before I’ve even met her. At this rate, it’ll be a miracle if she even wants to meet me at all.”

Bucky felt flushed. “Well, first of all, pretty sure wild horses couldn’t stop my mother from meeting someone I was dating, so I’m pretty sure a few dirty pictures aren’t gonna do it. And second of all, how ‘bout you slow your roll there, Captain. Let’s finish the first date before we start disappointing the parents, alright?”

Steve stuck out one large hand across the table and said, “Deal.” When Bucky offered his own hand in return, instead of shaking it, Steve wrapped his hand around it. Bucky wasn’t exactly small, but compared to Steve’s his hand looked tiny and fragile. Steve’s fingers reached for Bucky’s wrist , stroked gently at the delicate skin there.

“So,” Steve said after a moment. He still hadn’t let go of Bucky’s hand. It was nice; warm and comforting, or maybe Bucky was just a little buzzed. “You haven’t really talked about your family. Is your mother in New York?”

“New Jersey,” Bucky said, and when Steve pulled a face he continued, “Yeah I know, I keep trying to get her to move, but she and Dad insist on living there. I keep thinking I’ll keep them here one day, but they’re pretty stuck in their ways. My sister’s in the city though.”

“Oh?” Steve said. His fingers where they curled around Bucky’s wrist were like little bands of red-hot iron. Bucky wondered if they’d leave a burn.

“Mmhmm. Becca. We're twins but she's older by two minutes, and she never passes up opportunity to remind me. She lives in Red Hook, so I don’t see her as often as I’d like. It’s kind of a pain in the ass to get down there. Plus she’s a fashion designer, so she’s always got something going on with work. But regardless of how much we see each other, she’s still my favorite human being.”

Steve’s eyes were soft as he listened to Bucky talk about Becca. “I always wished I had a sibling when I was growing up. But looking back, I suppose it’s lucky I didn’t. I got in so much trouble on my own, I can’t imagine my Ma havin’ to deal with another one of me.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, tipping his head to the side and looking Steve up and down slowly. Then he winked and squeezed Steve’s hand. “Pretty sure you’re one of a kind, Steve Rogers.”

Steve ducked his head quickly, muttering, but not quickly enough that Bucky didn’t see the rapidly spreading blush. Bucky grinned to himself as he pulled his hand back across the table. He wondered how many dates Steve had been on in this century, and how many of those dates had been intimidated by the shield and the cowl. Well, Bucky didn’t play that game. He hoped Steve was ready.

“You ready to get outta here?” Bucky asked, reaching into the pocket of his jacket for his wallet.

“No,” Steve said, and then, “I mean yes, I’m ready, but stop that. I asked you out, so I’m gonna pay.” He reached for his own wallet as he spoke.

“I’d really rather-” Bucky said.

“Please, let me-” Steve said at the same time.

And then they were both pulling out their wallets, trying to beat the other like they were in some kind of great standoff to pay the tab. Bucky was pretty sure he would have won. Steve was bigger and definitely faster, but Bucky was crafty.

Either way, it turned out not to matter, as a man in dark jeans and a collared shirt showed up at their table. He was in his late 40s by Bucky’s estimation, with a head of thinning, greying hair, and the kind of perpetual air of exhaustion that seemed to scream ‘management’. The moment the man laid eyes on Steve however, the exhaustion seemed to vanish, and in its place, a buzzy kind of excitement, like a kid meeting their favorite superhero, appeared.

“Captain America!” The man stuck out a hand towards Steve, nearly knocking over the remnants of their drinks in his excitement.

Ah. So _exactly_ like a kid meeting their favorite superhero.

And like flipping a lightswitch, Bucky was suddenly sitting across from someone entirely different. The Steve he’d been talking to disappeared; his posture, the set of his shoulders, even the bland smile that slid across his blankly pleasant expression seemed foreign, but at the same time oddly familiar. And then it hit Bucky where he’d seen it all before.

On television. Talk shows and press conferences and news reports. He’d seen this version of Steve a thousand times in a thousand different ways, but it wasn’t until now that he realized how _wrong_ it was. In the limited time they’d spent together, he’d seen more of Steve than countless reporters and politicians.

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied as he shook the man’s hand. Bucky watched curiously.

The man was practically vibrating with excitement as he pulled his hand back. “I’m a huge fan, sir. When my staff told me you were out here, I had to come see. What an honor, sir, to have you in my bar.”

Steve’s smile looked strained at the corners, bordering on uncomfortable. “Thank you. It’s a great place you’ve got here. And our waitress was wonderful.”

The man beamed, and then his gaze zeroed in on Steve’s other hand, still clutching his wallet from his aborted attempt to pay before Bucky. “Oh no,” he said, waving his hands. “I can’t let you pay, sir. Captain America drinks for free here.”

The carefully blank smile on Steve’s face began to crack at the edges as his look of discomfort deepened. The man hovered expectantly, and Bucky noticed the muscles in Steve’s jaw as they tensed. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Actually,” Bucky said loudly, and both men snapped around to look at him. “I was going to pay anyway, so it’s not a problem.” He quickly dug into his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills, more than enough to cover the tab and a very generous tip. “You ready Steve? We don’t wanna miss the movie.”

“Yeah,” Steve said quickly. He’d picked up on Bucky’s plan immediately - _thank god_ \- and was already standing up. “It was great to meet you,” Steve said pleasantly to the man and shook his hand one more time. He then quickly followed behind Bucky, who was already making his way towards the exit.

The two of them maintained their composure all the way out of the bar, out onto the sidewalk, and a good way down the street as well. Bucky felt slightly proud of himself for engineering their quick escape, and he smiled at Steve as he attempted to wrap the scarf around his neck. Maybe it was the fact that he was looking at Steve and not the sidewalk, or maybe it was that he shouldn’t have drank so much and then practically run out of a building, but either way Bucky suddenly felt his feet wobble beneath him.

“Woah!” Steve said, reaching out quickly to steady him as they came to a sudden stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “You okay?”

Steve’s hands were warm on Bucky’s back as he attempted to right himself. Even when he was standing straight, the entire street seemed to be at a bit of a tilt. When he turned, the world took a split second longer to turn along with him.

“Fucking vodka limes,” Bucky said with a laugh. “Good for my figure, bad for my sobriety.”

“Oh, well, now I understand,” Steve said in a joking tone. “Couldn’t possibly mess with your image, now could we?”

“Hey!” Bucky said, swatting lightly at one of Steve’s arms but being secretly pleased when Steve retained his grasp on him. “This image is how I make my money.”

Steve rolled his eyes at him good-naturedly before unfortunately letting go of him and stepping back. “Shall we?” he asked as he motioned down the sidewalk in the direction they’d been going.

Bucky nodded and they took off again, although a little slower this time to accommodate Bucky’s less than superb alcohol tolerance. He wasn’t drunk. He for sure wasn’t anywhere close to where he’d been the first night they’d met, and besides, the brisk fall air was already starting to work its sobering magic on him. Dark had fallen while they’d talked, and around them the city was alive with streetlights and neon and people passing by on the sidewalk. Bucky breathed in air that smelled of the city; that familiar mix of smoke and oil and food from the restaurants they passed and the far-off rain that hadn’t come yet and all the things he loved about this place. It felt comforting. It felt like home.

“So…” Steve said, coming to a stop beside him.

Startled, Bucky glanced at him. He hadn’t realized how far they’d walked as he’d wandered around lost in his own thoughts. He and Steve were standing in front of the entrance to the subway station. Despite the fact that they would get on the subway together and that they’d both be going home to the exact same building to apartments on the same floor, Bucky found that he wasn’t quite ready for the date to be over.

He looked at Steve. His blonde hair looked like burnished gold under the glow of the streetlights. “Would you like-?” he began.

“Yes.” It seemed that Steve had been thinking the same things he had.

Bucky smiled. “Alright. What were you thinking?”

Steve looked around as he thought, and the play of the light across his sharp cheekbones was almost breathtaking. “There’s a park nearby,” he finally suggested.

Bucky nodded at him, and then to his delight, Steve put an arm around his shoulders as they began to walk again. His arm was a solid weight on Bucky’s back, grounding and steadying him. Subtly (or maybe not), Bucky leaned closer to Steve, reveling in his heat that radiated against the occasional bite of the wind.

The park wasn’t far away at all, and Bucky was almost disappointed. He would probably walk a hundred city blocks more, so long as he was allowed to do it with Steve holding onto him like this. His disappointment evaporated quickly though, as he realized that Steve apparently had no intentions of letting go. Beneath their feet, fallen leaves crunched as they walked a windy concrete path lined with benches and trees. The park was like all parks in New York; a tiny piece of greenery carved out of the concrete and steel of the city like an oasis in a desert.

This particular one was small; a park more in name than anything else, but it was nice, especially this time of year. The trees hadn’t yet lost all of their leaves, and the ones that still clung to the branches overhead were a muted mix of oranges and yellows and reds. The grass was short and brittle now with the colder weather, but Bucky could imagine what it looked like in the springtime, all green and vibrant. There weren’t many people there this late at night, but that suited Bucky just fine. He couldn’t exactly feel unsafe with Steve by his side. A sudden gust of wind blew through the air, rattling the branches above them, and Bucky pushed unconsciously into Steve’s side and bit down a smile as he felt Steve squeeze him even tighter.

“You know,” Steve said as they walked. “I thought about taking you dancing tonight.”

“Oh?” Bucky glanced over. “What made you change your mind?”

“I don’t know how to,” Steve admitted with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Aww.” Bucky reached up to where Steve’s hand rested on his shoulder and patted it clumsily. pat Steve’s hand where it rested on his own shoulder, “I’m sure you’re not _that_ bad.”

Steve snorted in a very ungraceful moment of laughter. “While I do thank you for that _very_ sincere attempt at trying to make me feel better, what I meant was I don’t know how to dance _anymore_. I used to, but the stuff that’s popular these days…” He shrugged.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You do know there’s about a million different places in the city that offer any style of dancing you could possibly even think of, right? I’m sure we can find you one you’re comfortable with for our next date.”

Steve beamed at him, and his smile lit up his entire face. “Really now? Our second date, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Bucky warned him with a smile of his own.

Steve hugged Bucky tight to his side again as the wind blew through once more. The light posts along the path cast gold shadows on the sidewalk below, and they passed between them from dark to light to dark to light again. Each transition highlighted the features of Steve’s face; the sharp cheekbones and defined jaw, the fullness of his lips, the length of his eyelashes. Being with Steve here was like being in the center of a stage; there were other things out there, an entire city around them, but none of them mattered. It was all fuzzy and blurry at the edges, and the only thing sharp and real was right here with them.

“I love this time of year,” Bucky murmured into Steve’s side. He was so close that when Steve spoke Bucky could feel the vibrations rumble through his chest.

“I used to hate it,” Steve said. When Bucky looked up at him questioningly he continued, “I was always sick when I was a kid. Bad lungs. It made the winters real tough on Ma. I hated that.”

“So you really were like that?” Bucky mused, mouth twisting down at the corners at the thought of Steve sick and in pain. “Every kid in this country grows up learning about you in history class and seeing the pictures from before. But I never knew if they were real or not, or if they were an exaggeration.”

On their left a small group of teenagers, probably too young to be out this late, passed by them chattering loudly. Steve subtly tipped his chin downwards and towards Bucky, casting his very recognizable face into shadow. The action brought him the closest to Bucky that he’d been all night, and something in Bucky ached at the sight of those clear blue eyes staring into his.

When the kids were gone, Steve pulled away again. “They were real,” he said softly. He didn’t elaborate, and Bucky knew enough not to ask.

Instead he asked, “Do you miss it at all? Your old life?”

Steve thought for so long that Bucky started to think that maybe he hadn’t heard the question at all. But finally, after half a minute of silence (that felt like an eternity), Steve answered. “I do. I miss a lot of it. I miss my Ma. It’s hard to realize how much family means until you don’t have it anymore. I’ve got the team now, but it’s not the same as flesh and blood. And I miss-” Steve paused and looked around, chewing on his lip as he thought. “Things were simpler,” he finally decided on. “For me, at least. People didn’t… it was different.” The bittersweetness of the emotions were rolling off Steve in waves, and Bucky opened his mouth to change the subject and try to lighten the mood, when Steve said, “Some things are better though. The future is different in ways I could only dream about back then. For example, I can do this now.”

And then Steve kissed him.

It was a good kiss. Steve’s lips were warm and firm, and Bucky felt himself melting against him. Bucky turned more fully toward him and felt Steve’s other arm slip around his waist. He let his own arms slide around Steve’s back in response, across the broad planes of muscle and the soft fabric of his t-shirt. He could feel the thumping of Steve’s heart where it pressed against his own chest, and he was certain that Steve could feel his.

Steve’s grasp around him was an iron vice, hot and unyielding, but also steadying all at once as Bucky kissed him back. The wind blew hard, ruffling through Bucky’s hair, but he didn’t care. The world had narrowed down to him and Steve and the small space in between them that was shrinking rapidly as Steve pulled him tight against his body. He felt Steve nip playfully at his lip, and Bucky smiled into the kiss before biting back just a little harder. The small gasp of surprise from Steve sent a bolt of electricity straight down Bucky’s spine, and he bit back a groan, instead kissing softly at the spot he’d just bitten before pulling back slightly.

“So,” he grinned at Steve, who even though he’d initiated the kiss, looked more dazed out of the two of them. “The future’s not all bad, right?”

Steve recovered quickly and huffed out a laugh. His breath was warm in the chilly air. “Definitely not,” he agreed, before going back in for another kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

The trip back to their apartment building from the park wasn’t long enough. In fact, the entire date wasn’t long enough as far as Steve was concerned. From the moment they’d started talking, Steve had felt himself falling for Bucky Barnes. Maybe it had been inevitable since the moment he’d first come across him sprawled out drunk in their shared hallway. Or maybe it was Steve’s artistic side getting mushy after spending the entire evening refusing to fight the inexorable leaping highs of a new relationship.

“I had a really nice night,” Steve found himself saying. He wanted to say something stronger; wonderful, maybe, or fantastic, but nice seemed like a good, safe word for now.

Bucky smiled. He was facing Steve in the empty hallway, his back to his open apartment door. The lights were off inside, and Bucky hadn’t made any move to go inside it just yet. “I did too.”

“So…” Steve said, immediately trailing off and then feeling foolish. _Get it together Rogers._ He was acting like a damn teenager; had been for half the night. All these years of having the serum, and all it took was one man to break him back down into the skinny, awkward boy he’d been. One _very_ attractive and charming man for sure, but still one man all the same.

“Thanks for the date Steve.” Bucky thankfully stopped Steve from saying something he would probably cringe at later.

“You’re welcome.” Steve smiled softly at Bucky and took a step closer, closing the already small gap between them. They weren’t as far off in height as Steve had thought. In the park, Bucky had seemed small and delicate in his grip, but now he stood tall, only a few inches shorter than Steve himself. “Is it okay if I…?”

Bucky answered by pushing forward the last few inches and closing his lips softly over Steve’s, and Steve responded eagerly. Somehow this kiss was even better than the first. Already they were learning each other, as Steve instinctually tilted his head to the side and Bucky’s arms wrapped around Steve’s waist, settling onto his hips like they belonged there. Bucky’s lips were full, and he tasted faintly like chapstick and mint. Steve wanted to taste more, and curiously, he let his tongue dart out to touch Bucky’s lips.

Bucky made a little noise in the back of his throat that had Steve’s stomach doing somersaults, and he chased after it, wanted to make it happen again. This time Bucky’s lips parted for him and allowed Steve in. Cautiously at first, and then with more confidence, Steve explored Bucky’s mouth, practically grinning in delight when he felt Bucky nip at him. Bucky had a spirited side to him, and combined with his confidence, it drove Steve wild.

He could have stayed there forever in that hallway, touching and tasting and exploring Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s body fit tight against Steve’s like it was made to be there. Steve let his hands slip further and further down Bucky’s back to the edge of his sweater and playfully tugged at the hem with his fingers as Bucky kissed him harder. Steve let one hand slip under the edge of the fabric to rub circles into the smooth skin of Bucky’s lower back. Bucky arched back into the touch, and the way his body rubbed against Steve’s was pure bliss.

It was amazing, all of it. Exactly what he hadn’t even known to hope for. He could feel his body responding to Bucky’s touch, seeking it out, following it like a plant in search of sunlight. Steve had been with other men since he’d come out of the ice - more than a few, truth be told. But not like. Never had such a simple touch made him feel like he was being lit up from the inside out. It was perfect. It was…

“Wait,” Steve said, pulling away from Bucky who looked more than a little displeased at this sudden turn of events. “I don’t want you to think... I mean, I don’t think that just because-” Bucky’s eyes were narrowing, his mouth twisting down into a frown as Steve stumbled over his words. Steve could feel Bucky’s muscles starting to tense where they were still pressed together. “You don’t have to,” he finally said. “With me. You don’t have to.”

Bucky took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. Steve watched worriedly as Bucky blew the breath out slowly through his nose, teeth clenched together and eyes still closed. His fingers on Steve’s hips were tight, close to painful, although they loosened as he breathed out. When all the air was gone, Bucky opened his eyes and Steve could feel him forcibly relaxing his muscles.

“I know that,” he finally said. “And I appreciate you thinking about how I feel, don’t get me wrong. I really do. But I’m an adult and I make my own decisions and I need you to respect that. Don’t bring my job into the bedroom with us, Steve. Trust me to tell you when I have a problem, and believe me when I say I don’t.”

Steve nodded, feeling slightly taken aback by Bucky’s words. He couldn’t quite say that he felt ashamed for thinking of Bucky’s feelings, for checking in on whether or not Bucky wanted this or not. But Bucky was prickly about certain things involving his job and his life, as Steve had learned repeatedly during their date. However, Bucky had seemed forgiving of his slip ups then, and he seemed the same now. Steve was just so new to all of this, and there was so much to learn. Bucky was an enigma and Steve had barely scratched the surface.

“Besides.” Bucky’s tone was soft again, his face relaxed and open as his eyes met Steve’s with a mischievous kind of spark to them. “You can’t do what I do and hate sex. Now either come inside and fuck me or go home and I’ll do it myself.”

For a moment Steve was speechless. But he quickly recovered and wiped away the gaping expression he was sure he’d been giving Bucky. He had been half-hard before from their kissing, and now he could feel his cock straining against the fabric of his underwear. Bucky grinned before leaning in and kissing Steve messily, more teeth and tongue than finesse. He swallowed up Steve’s gasp as he pressed a thigh in between Steve’s legs, brushing against his aching cock and sending an electric jolt up his spine.

“Yes sir,” Steve breathed at him when they parted.

Bucky grinned and started walking backwards towards the open doorway, crooking a finger at Steve in a _‘follow me’_ kind of gesture. Acting on impulse, Steve darted forward to catch up with him, crouching slightly to wrap his hands around the back of Bucky’s thighs. He caught a glimpse of Bucky’s face, lips caught in a silent O of surprise as Steve lifted him off the ground. But even though Steve had caught him off guard, Bucky responded beautifully, his legs wrapping tightly around Steve’s waist as Steve hefted him into the air, hands splayed flat beneath his thighs and buttocks to keep him steady. Steve’s cock, trapped tightly between the two of them, rubbed against the fabric of his underwear and he nearly whimpered.

Bucky had a wicked look on his face as he tightened his legs and rolled his hips. Steve groaned at the friction, delicious little sparks of pleasure crackling through him. They were kissing again - Steve wasn’t even sure when they’d started, but the thought of stopping was almost physically painful. He wanted to always be kissing Bucky.

Opening his eyes just a sliver, Steve surveyed the space around him, and the very small part of his brain that wasn’t taken up with _BuckyBuckyBucky_ made quick sense of the layout in the dark. Neither of them had bothered to turn on the lights. In an impressive display of coordination, Steve picked his way carefully through the dark apartment, past a table in the entryway and through the shadowy living room, sidestepping a low coffee table, until he found what he was looking for.

Without ceremony, Steve dropped Bucky onto the couch before dropping to a kneeling position on the floor at his feet. “You know,” Bucky said, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at Steve in the dark. “I’ve got a bedroom.”

“Too far away,” Steve replied. Bucky watched with hooded eyes as Steve ran his palms up the inside of Bucky’s legs, all the way to his groin. His legs were slim; Steve could wrap his hands around the biggest part of Bucky’s thigh with space left over. But even with his build, Bucky didn’t seem fragile. Far from it. He was in control, and Steve kind of loved it.

They worked together without speaking, with Bucky anticipating Steve’s next moves. Deftly, Bucky worked open his belt and jeans, lifting himself off the couch slightly as Steve tugged them down over his legs, taking his underwear with them. His legs were finely muscled, for all that they’d looked so slim when he was clothed, and Steve lowered his face down to one firm thigh, kissing softly at the smooth skin there.

He felt Bucky’s legs come up and wrap around his back as he knelt, Bucky’s heels digging into the muscle of his shoulders. Steve planted another kiss on Bucky’s thigh, and another, moving slowly around to the inside where Bucky’s cock lay against it, swollen and leaking at the tip. Steve’s hands came up to grip at Bucky’s hips as he nosed at Bucky’s cock. He smiled when he heard Bucky gasp above him and felt his thigh muscles tense. Just to be mean, Steve reached out tentatively with his tongue, flicking at the head of Bucky’s cock and tasting the bitter-sweet salt of his precome. He felt Bucky practically jump at the sensation and decided he’d teased enough.

In one swift movement, Steve swallowed Bucky down, nearly his entire length. This time Bucky did jump, his hips surging upwards even as Steve pressed him back down. The head of his cock hit the back of Steve’s throat, and he gagged a little and pulled back. Bucky started to say something, maybe to apologize, but Steve wasn’t interested. He headed it off by hollowing out his cheeks and taking Bucky in again, bobbing his head eagerly as Bucky gasped and groaned above him. He could feel Bucky’s heels digging into his shoulders, Bucky’s hips tense under his hands, Bucky’s hands grasping weakly at his hair.

Pulling back a bit, Steve wrapped his tongue around Bucky’s cock, putting pressure on the sensitive underside. When he was sure that Bucky wouldn’t buck upwards again, he took one hand off of Bucky’s hips and brought it down, trailing his finger up the delicate crease between Bucky’s thigh and groin. He let his fingers keep going as he continued to suck at Bucky’s cock, dragging them through the dark, neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock and down, down, down to the sensitive skin over Bucky’s balls. The skin was soft and velvety beneath Steve’s palm as he took Bucky in hand, massaging at him. All the while, Steve took more and more of Bucky’s cock into his mouth, until his nose was nearly pressed into the short curls and the soap-sweat scent of Bucky filled his nostrils. Steve swallowed around Bucky’s cock, worked his throat and his mouth and his tongue until-

“Stop!”

Steve froze as Bucky’s knees locked tight around his head, ankles crossed behind his neck. He let Bucky’s cock fall from his mouth. “Are you-”

Bucky was breathing hard, his cock stood hard and dripping. “I don’t wanna come yet. Not like this.”

Steve breathed out, the sudden tenseness leaving his shoulders. “You sure you don’t want to come now?” he asked breathily, his lips brushing up against Bucky’s swollen cock. He flicked his tongue out to rub at the head, tonguing at the precome that gathered there.

“Steve - _ahhh_\- that’s not-” Bucky moaned out his words as Steve let the head of Bucky’s cock slip back into his mouth and suckled at it. Weakly, he pushed at Steve’s head, and Steve let go with a soft pop. “I’ll remember this,” Bucky panted at him with narrowed eyes.

Steve grinned at he stood up and nearly froze at the sight before him. He’d been concentrating so hard on sucking Bucky off that he hadn’t stopped to really look at him. And god, what an exquisite sight Bucky made, splayed out on the couch as he was, eager and willing and wanting. He was naked from the waist down, the pale skin of his legs red from Steve’s hands and mouth, and his cock bobbed softly against his thigh. His cheeks were red with exertion, his lips swollen and hair mussed. He looked perfectly debauched. The rush of blood to Steve’s cock was so powerful he almost felt dizzy with it.

Steve held out a hand to pull Bucky up off the couch. He wanted to continue on with their night while at the same time hated to disrupt such a perfect picture. But then Bucky was standing in front of him, their faces mere inches away. Bucky’s lips brushed over Steve’s as he whispered, “You know, I’m feeling at a bit of a disadvantage here.”

As he spoke, his hands worked expertly at Steve’s belt. Steve was all too eager to help, and he ended up getting in the way more than anything as Bucky undid his belt and pants and pushed them down over his thighs. Steve assisted, kicking the offending material away as Bucky pulled at the hem of Steve’s shirt, helping him to lift it over his head and throwing it somewhere in the direction of the coffee table. Bucky’s own sweater quickly followed, and they stood before each other completely naked.

The rest of Bucky was just as good as what Steve had already seen. His torso was long and lean, pale skin over tight muscles. A small white scar stretched over his abdomen near his right hip bone, and two metal bars glinted where they pierced through his nipples. Bucky stepped even closer and Steve moaned as their cocks brushed together, the direct contact better than anything he’d felt all night. Their hands explored each other, roaming across skin and muscle, learning each other’s bodies as they kissed again.

Bucky rolled his hips against Steve’s in a way that had him seeing stars. “Fuck,” Steve ground out between clenched teeth. He brought a hand up to bury it in Bucky’s hair, pulling tight and forcing his head back so that Steve could kiss at his throat. He was rewarded with a quiet whimper and doubled down, tightening his fingers further into Bucky’s hair. He felt something brush up against his wrist and opened his eyes, curious.

“What’s this?” he asked, pulling away for a moment. The hand that wasn’t in Bucky’s hair came up to touch softly at the cord around Bucky’s throat. It was a necklace of some sort; just a small grey charm strung on a simple leather cord. There was a red star embossed onto the surface. It looked old, the leather worn and faded. He must have been wearing it all night, but Steve hadn’t seen it beneath the sweater.

Bucky rolled his hips once more and Steve stifled a moan. “Do you want to ask me about my necklace?” Bucky asked, his hands roaming dangerously low over Steve’s ass. “Or do you want to fuck me?”

Steve growled low in his throat and dropped his hands to cup the back of Bucky’s thighs, intending to pick him up again and show him that he meant business, but Bucky was ready for him. Bucky’s legs were spread wide, his stance strong as he resisted Steve’s attempt to lift him. Instead, he reached around and locked Steve’s arms to his sides in a bear hug as he met him with a kiss that was wilder and more dangerous than any they’d had so far.

It wasn’t really a contest, of course. Bucky’s hold was strong, but Steve was stronger. A lot stronger. He could have broken out if he really wanted, could have snatched Bucky up and insisted on having things the way he wanted them, but Steve liked this. He liked being with someone so confident, someone who took charge, someone who knew what they wanted and took it. There was something strangely exhilarating about his arms being pinned to his sides, his body under Bucky’s control, if only for a little while. Steve gave in, going where Bucky led him as he was marched backwards through the apartment, away from the living room and through a doorway into what looked like a bedroom.

Steve stopped when he felt the back of his legs bump into what felt like a bed, but Bucky kept going, kept pushing until Steve let his knees buckle and fell back heavily into a mess of sheets and blankets. Bucky followed, crawling up over Steve, not giving him even a moment to gather himself before Bucky was kissing his way down Steve’s chest, dipping his tongue into the little divots of Steve’s muscles.

Steve’s belly twitched in anticipating as Bucky got closer to his cock. He craned his neck to watch, entranced by the sight of Bucky bent low over him, his pink tongue darting out to touch him and his face shadowed by the darkness of the bedroom, eyes shining with reflected light from the nearby window.

The look Bucky gave Steve could have rivalled the devil’s. Bucky grinned, and his teeth shone wolfishly in the dark. “You know what my favorite saying is, Steve?”

Steve laughed weakly as Bucky breathed over his cock, the warm air almost enough to make him cry. “One good turn deserves another?”

“More like payback’s a bitch.”

If Steve thought he’d had good blow jobs before he was wrong, and Bucky was all too willing to show him the error of his ways. Bucky swallowed him down completely on the first try; his tongue, velvety and wet and smooth, wrapping around the shaft of Steve’s dick as he sucked. Steve’s heels dug into the bed as Bucky swallowed around him, the head of his cock nudging into the back of his throat. Bucky’s hands came up to work deftly at Steve’s balls, rolling them between his long fingers, adding sensation on top of sensation to the already overwhelming amount that Steve was feeling.

“Fuck,” Steve said, and then again, “_fuck_,” as Bucky hollowed out his cheeks and did something that made fireworks burst behind Steve’s eyelids. He wasn’t even sure when he’d closed his eyes, but he now forced his eyelids up, mouth hanging open with sounds that wouldn’t come as his eyes stayed glued to Bucky. Bucky’s lips were stretched tight around Steve’s cock, his blue eyes open and staring at Steve through dark lashes, and Steve felt something like a tidal wave crash through him. It was too good, too fast, too perfect. He squirmed against the sheets, heels digging into the mattress, hands clinging helplessly to Bucky’s shoulders, noises he didn’t even know he was capable of escaping his throat, and then-

Bucky pulled off his dick and Steve nearly screamed in frustration. He was a volcano boiling over, a dam about to break its walls, a fuse about to blow. “Do you want me to keep going?” Bucky asked. He was breathing hard again, his lips and chin shiny with saliva.

“I’ve got more than one in me,” Steve said, clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching down to stroke his own cock. Just a little bit, that was all he’d need, but no, no-

“Really?” Bucky’s face lit up with delight. “All right then.”

And bless him, he must have sensed Steve’s frustration because he didn’t hesitate, just dropped back down and took Steve in again, nearly to the root. Steve’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head, and he felt Bucky’s hands grab at his, guiding him to curl his fingers into Bucky’s hair. After a bit of prompting, Steve got the message, tightening his grip until Bucky’s dark hair stood out starkly against the whiteness of his scalp.

Steve pushed experimentally and Bucky responded with eagerness, bobbing his head up and down on Steve’s cock. After that Steve pushed harder, pulling at Bucky’s hair and forcing his head down until he felt Bucky’s nose buried into the hair at the base of his dick. Saliva ran slick down Bucky’s chin as he choked for air, the spasms of his throat around Steve’s cock sending lightning bolts of pleasure straight through him.

“Fuck, I-” was all the warning he was able to give before he felt his orgasm crash over him like a tidal wave. He could feel it through his core and down to his fingers and toes. His muscles clenched and he pulled hard at Bucky, forcing his cock deep into Bucky’s throat as he came, his cock pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Bucky grasped at Steve’s hip, swallowing down all of it and making a humming sound deep in his throat that sent vibrations up through Steve’s cock that set off a second, smaller wave. Bucky swallowed that too, and when Steve was finally able to open his eyes and look, Bucky was grinning like a loon at him, Steve’s cock still stretching his lips wide.

“Bucky,” Steve panted, willing his clenched up muscles to relax one by one. “Fuck. I’m-,” he struggled to speak as Bucky slowly let Steve’s cock fall from his lips.

Bucky surged upwards and kissed him. Steve responded with enthusiasm, opening his mouth and letting Bucky in. He could taste himself on Bucky’s tongue, all salt and sweat and skin. Steve could already feel himself growing hard again, his cock swelling against his thigh, and he silently thanked the serum for that ability.

Bucky shuddered suddenly, a tremor going through him. Steve stopped their kiss. Worried, his eyes searched the length of Bucky’s body for something wrong. Another tremor rocked through Bucky and he moaned loudly. He was still leaning over Steve, shrouded in shadow in the dark bedroom, but Steve could see well enough, and he quickly realized that nothing was wrong at all.

Bucky had taken his own cock in hand and was stroking it slowly, long fingers wrapped around shaft, wrist twisting delicately as he moved. His hips moved in time with his hand as he knelt above Steve on the bed. Steve felt dizzy again as blood rushed once more to his cock, filling it rapidly at the sight of Bucky fucking into his fist, lips open in a moan, color high on his cheeks as he worked at his own cock.

Steve grabbed hold of Bucky’s shoulders and effortlessly flipped them over so that Bucky was lying against the sheets and Steve now leaned over him. Bucky made a little noise of surprise, his hand stilling on his cock. Steve kissed him quickly and nudged at Bucky’s hand, encouraging him. Bucky didn’t waste any time in starting up again, the breathy little sighs he was making nearly driving Steve mad with want.

Again, Bucky knew what Steve wanted before he even asked. “Middle drawer,” Bucky told him. “Oh god, please hurry.”

Steve’s insides were hot, molten lava, his entire world narrowed down to Bucky’s hand on his cock and _wantwantwant_. He rolled quickly to the edge of the bed and yanked open the middle drawer of the dresser that stood to the side. The contents of the drawer slowed him down, throwing a bucket of cold water onto the fire raging in his belly.

There were too many choices. Small bottles, some lube, some not, some brands Steve knew and some he didn’t, lined up side by side, and more condoms than Steve thought he’d probably used in the last two years at least.

“I, um-” Steve swallowed thickly. His stomach felt like it had dropped to his feet. “Is there anything in here I’m not supposed to-”

“Wha-?” Bucky let go of his dick and propped himself up onto one elbow to give Steve a confused look. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Steve tried to swallow, but failed again. “I mean, is anything in here that’s strictly for…”

Bucky flopped back onto the bed and threw a forearm over his face, stifling a groan. “I don’t see clients here, Steve. This is my home.”

“Oh.” Steve felt a strange wave of relief wash through him, and he snatched up a bottle of lube at random. It wasn’t a brand he recognized, but then again he’d never been particularly picky as long as it got the job done. He picked up a condom with the word magnum emblazoned on the side and hurriedly traded it out for another one. He wasn’t sure he could take that particular blow to his confidence today.

It was the work of less than a minute to get the condom on and get his fingers slicked up. Bucky was back to stroking himself, and Steve watched his face carefully as he pressed his first finger into him.

“It’s okay,” Bucky told him as Steve moved cautiously. “I can do another.”

“Are you-” Steve started to ask, and Bucky made a noise of frustration before reaching over and grabbing the bottle of lube with his unoccupied hand. One-handed, he coated his own fingers in lube, making a mess as he did. And then, eyes locked to Steve’s, Bucky reached behind his own legs and wrapped his hand around Steve’s.

Steve felt himself holding his breath as Bucky slipped a finger in beside his own. Both their hands were slick with lube. It was on their palms, their wrists, and on the sheets beneath them, but if Bucky didn’t care than neither did Steve. Eyes still locked together, Bucky began to move and Steve moved with him. Together, they opened Bucky open up, relaxing the taut muscle as they went.

Steve felt Bucky’s finger wrap around his and guide him until his finger was crooked in just the right position. Bucky gasped and moaned and tightened around them as both their fingers nudged at his prostate. Steve’s own dick was so hard he felt like it might burst, and he leaned down to kiss Bucky, rubbing shamelessly against him. The friction was delicious.

“You,” Steve asked, “or me?”

“You,” Bucky breathed at him, and Steve slipped a second finger in. They’d worked him open so well that he barely met resistance. Still, Steve spread his fingers wide slowly. “I’m ready,” Bucky told him quickly - too quickly in Steve’s opinion.

“Not yet,” Steve insisted. He was loathe to hurt anyone, and would be damned if he did it out of impatience.

Bucky, however, wasn’t having it. He squirmed under Steve’s grip, gasping lightly when the movement drove their fingers deeper into him. “I said I’m ready.”

“Well, I’m not,” Steve told him matter-of-factly, and Bucky stopped his squirming to gape at him in surprise. “We both make decisions in here,” Steve said in a tone that brokered no argument. Bucky nodded slowly at him and lay back, letting Steve continue to work him open until he was finally satisfied that he wouldn’t be hurt. Bucky stroked himself while Steve worked, and the inside of his thighs were wet with precome and lube, his eyes glazed over his desire, when Steve finally nodded okay.

“Finally,” Bucky breathed, and copying Steve’s early move, he rolled them over on the bed. Steve’s fingers came free and his hands came up automatically to grip at Bucky’s hips. In one graceful movement, Bucky sank down on his cock, a long moan escaping him. He took barely a second to adjust to the intrusion before he was already moving, rolling his hips and riding Steve for all he was worth.

Steve’s hands wandered up to Bucky’s chest, tweaking at the metal bars in his nipples and watching as the skin drew tight around them. Bucky’s head was thrown back, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open as he rode Steve’s cock. He was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen, and Steve wanted more. He wanted to live in this moment forever. This was how Bucky should always look; wanton and wild and unraveled, desperate and needy, shiny with sweat and lube and spit, all as he fucked himself relentlessly on Steve’s cock.

Bucky bounced up and down in Steve’s lap, driving Steve’s cock up into him at a brutal pace. They’d had enough foreplay, and now it appeared that Bucky meant business. The time for being gentle was over. Steve’s hands were back on Bucky’s hips now, holding on hard as they moved together desperately, running towards the edge of the cliff together, ready to throw themselves over the side.

“No bruises,” Bucky moaned out, the words barely coherent. “You break it, you bought it.”

“Gladly,” Steve replied, but let go of his death grip all the same. Instead, he wrapped his hands around Bucky’s cock, and Bucky cried out as Steve jerked him roughly in time with the thrusting of his hips.

“Steve! Fuck, Steve, I’m gonna come,” Bucky panted.

“Come for me, baby,” Steve murmured, feeling the pressure in his abdomen as his own orgasm swelled and threatened to spill over.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, _oh fuck_!”

Bucky came, his cock pulsing in Steve’s hands as he spilled over Steve’s fingers. Steve stroked him through it, and Bucky’s thighs clamped tight around Steve, his insides gripping Steve’s cock tightly. That, along with the long, throaty moan that ripped from Bucky’s throat, sent Steve over the edge. He thrust his hips up wildly as his orgasm pounded through him, ripping his breath from his lungs and a strangled cry from his throat. Waves of pleasure shuddered through him as he came, and he couldn’t tell if he was the one who couldn’t stop shaking or if it was Bucky. Maybe it was both of them.

Slowly, Steve came back to himself. Bucky was a warm, solid weight on top of him, his breathing still rough and ragged, but with a warm, buzzy smile on his face. Gently, Steve rolled Bucky off of him to lay him against the pillows, and Bucky grinned dopily at him, still riding high on the haze of endorphins. He was a mess, come and lube spread messily across his stomach and down his thighs, and Steve knew he wasn’t much better himself.

With great effort, he managed to heft himself off of the bed and find his way to the adjoining bathroom in the darkness. He grabbed a towel and wiped himself off before grabbing another one off the rack at random. He made it back to the bed, flopping down heavily at Bucky’s side, before handing over the other towel.

Bucky nodded his thanks before lazily swiping at the mess on his stomach. Chuckling softly, Steve took the towel back from him and cleaned Bucky off, working quickly. When they were both acceptably clean, Steve threw the towel off to the side and burrowed down into the sheets next to Bucky. Bucky rolled onto his side to meet him halfway, and they both lay like that, looking at each other contently for a long time.

Eventually, Bucky rolled back over and reached for something on the nightstand. Steve watched in curiosity as Bucky pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a phone. He realized with surprise that it wasn’t the one that Bucky had been using all evening, but an older, outdated model. Bucky thumbed the power on and then swiped on the screen, opening up the camera, before falling back onto the sheets. Bucky held the phone up high with one arm, and then stretched, his naked abdomen and chest going taut, making the muscle stand out under the skin. He took a series of photos like that, hair tousled and mussed, his naked body smooth and tantalizing as Steve imagined it from the point of view of the camera. Steve’s groin tingled, the beginnings of more arousal, but he was content enough for now to let the desire pool in his belly, lazy and warm.

“What’re doing?” Steve asked after Bucky had taken several more photos.

Bucky smiled, and it was the first time all night that Steve had seen him look so abashed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s kind of weird, but I have to keep my sites updated, attract new clients, you know. I wouldn’t normally do this with someone else in bed, but...” His mouth crooked up at the corner as he gave Steve a lazy half-smile. “I just feel really good right now and I wanted to capture that.”

“Wait,” Steve sat up slightly, propped up on one elbow. “You have to advertise?”

“Of course I have to advertise,” Bucky said, huffing in amusement. “I can’t exactly carry around a sign that says ‘pay for sex here’, now can I?”

“Good point,” Steve said, settling back down to let Bucky finish.

Bucky rolled his eyes and continued, “Anyway, I run a couple of pages. Social media sites, Twitter, Instagram, nothing attached to my real name. But I like to post something every few days, maybe push that person who’s been thinking about it over the edge into deciding to book an appointment.”

Steve nodded. “Makes sense.” He paused, and then on a crazy impulse, “Do you think I could be in a picture? Not my face obviously, but…”

Bucky looked at him in surprise, before a grin slowly crept across his face. It made him even more beautiful than he already was, and Steve’s body was slowly catching on to the idea as he felt his cock twitch in interest.

“Fuck it, why not?”

Steve grinned and kissed him, deep and messy. Bucky responded eagerly, sucking Steve’s lower lip into his mouth before letting go.

“Here,” Bucky said, taking charge. “Just throw your leg over mine there, and maybe put your hand over there.” Bucky posed him as Steve went along with good humour. “Okay,” Bucky said when he finally deemed them camera ready. “Hold still.”

“Want me to flex my abs?”

Bucky gave him another look. “Of fucking course. Jeez, Steve, it’s like you’ve got no head for business.”

Steve snorted in amusement. “So sorry,” he said, and then flexed his muscles as Bucky began to take several pictures in a row from all different angles. Steve watched quietly, his body pressed to Bucky’s as Bucky flipped through the pictures.

As promised, neither of their faces were in the photos. Steve studied the pictures as Bucky looked through them. Bucky looked good, but that wasn’t surprising. After tonight, Steve could probably write an entire novel on how good Bucky Barnes looked after sex. But even more surprising, so did Steve. He didn’t think much about his own body in those terms, although he knew that a lot of people did. He watched intently as Bucky finally selected a photo, captioned it, and posted it to a Twitter page that seemed to be nothing but risqué photos and posts. And it was… strange. He hadn’t been sure how he’d feel about it, but the instant Bucky pressed the button to post the picture, Steve felt a strange sense of exhilaration rush through him. It was Steve in that picture; his leg wrapped around Bucky, his hand brushing the inside of Bucky’s thigh. Bucky was slick with sweat from fucking him. Other men would be looking at that photo and wanting to be him, but they’d have to pay for it, and even then, they still wouldn’t get the Bucky that Steve had gotten. Or at least, he hoped they wouldn’t.

“Thanks,” Bucky told him after he’d put his phone away. Steve nodded silently and continued what he’d been doing; studying the lines of Bucky’s body in the scant light that came in through the curtained window. He longed for just a bit more light. Bucky made an exquisite sight like this, stretched out and sated on the rumpled sheets. “It’s from my sister, by the way.”

“Hmm?” Steve looked up, confused.

“This.”

Bucky reached up and touched the necklace around his throat. Steve reached up as well, rolled the leather cord between his fingers, but quickly got caught up in admiring the hollow of Bucky’s throat. He didn’t usually have this bad of a one-track mind, but Bucky was an exception in all sorts of ways, so why not this one as well?

“She gave it to me for luck when I moved out for college. I don’t know if it was especially lucky, but I wore it regardless.” Bucky smiled at the memory as he spoke, but then his expression grew cloudy. “We’re not as close as we used to be, and I… oh, well.” He looked at Steve and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just the way it goes, I guess.”

Steve could see the strain behind his smile. He knew enough about regret to know that Bucky wanted an out, and Steve was more than happy to give it to him if he could. “What about this?” Steve asked, his fingers marking out a trail down Bucky’s torso, skipping lightly over the pale skin to land on the small scar over his right hip. “Where’d you get this?”

“Would you believe me if I said saving the world?” Bucky asked.

Steve poked him gently in the soft skin over his stomach and Bucky laughed, swatting at his hand as he said, “Alright, alright, you got me! Appendix in ninth grade. Excuse me for trying to spice up the story.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Steve remarked idly, rolling over onto his back and tucking his arms behind his head as a pillow. “I think you’re plenty spicy enough.”

“Oof,” Bucky said, making a face. “Flirting’s not exactly your forte, Steve. Maybe you should just stick to throwing the shield.”

Steve looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “It was enough to interest you, wasn’t it?”

Bucky shrugged. “No accounting for taste, I suppose.” Luckily, he was fast enough to dodge the swat Steve made in his direction.

In the silence that followed, Steve looked down at his own body; smooth, unmarked skin shining in the darkness. “You know,” he said softly. “I don’t even remember the scars I used to have.”

“Used to?” Bucky scooted closer, laying his head on Steve’s chest as they spoke.

“They all disappeared when I got the serum,” Steve replied. “And now, it’s been so long. That’s strange, isn’t it? To not even know what your own body’s been through? To not have the marks to prove it?”

Bucky tilted to look at him. In the dim light, his blue eyes were nearly black, but Steve felt captured by them all the same. After a long moment, Bucky leaned back to Steve’s chest and planted a soft kiss to the skin over his heart, more a brush of lips than anything else. Up and up he went, planting kisses in a straight line until he reached the junction of Steve’s neck and shoulder. Then slowly, deliberately, Bucky bit down hard. Steve let out a little breath and Bucky sank his teeth in further, each little point of pain like a diamond in the dark. Steve imagined that when he let up, there’d be a perfect outline; a perfect imprint of Bucky on him forever for the entire world to see. Nothing had ever sounded like a better idea.

Finally, Bucky drew back, but not before kissing the spot he’d bitten, soothing the bruised skin. “There,” he said. “Even if it’s just for a little while.” He looked at Steve, a question in his eyes.

Something warm and bright, like liquid gold, pooled in Steve’s belly even as his cock began to stir again between his legs. Steve took Bucky’s face in his hands, his fingers wrapped around the back of Bucky’s neck, cradling it like something precious. “Even then,” Steve said before kissing him.


	5. Chapter 5

The pounding on his front door was like a series of cannon blasts. Bucky woke from a dead sleep when he heard the noise, and immediately winced at the afternoon sun streaming in through his bedroom window. He had a wicked headache, his temples pounding from the lack of sleep and an overabundance of booze. Memories of the night before flashed through his mind, and he grinned despite the pain in his skull. It was worth every sore muscle and every second of being hungover just for the look on Steve’s face as he came. Bucky’s only regret was that Steve had had to leave his bed around 3am so that Bucky could get some sleep before...

Outside his door, the noise intensified.

“I’m on my way, fucking cool it!” he called in a hoarse voice as he stumbled out of bed and yanked on a pair of boxers. The day was bright, but chilly, and the cold air on his skin made him shiver. At least it woke him up a little. Still, he dreamed of the coffee maker on his kitchen counter as he dug his thumbs into his temples, trying to alleviate the ache.

“Fucking hell, Becca,” he complained as he opened the door. “I heard you. I think the entire building heard you.”

“Well then, answer quicker next time.” She grinned mischievously as she blew past him in a swirl of riotous colors and perfume.

Becca looked as put together as she always did, in an above-the-knee skirt that was an eye-smarting shade of pink, paired with a brightly floral patterned shirt and calf-high wedge boots. It shouldn’t have looked good together at all, but Becca had the uncanny ability to make everything she touched look like an avant-garde art piece, from her clothing to the decor of her very-decidedly bohemian apartment. Her long brown hair, the exact same auburn color as Bucky’s, was loose and wavy around her shoulders, with tiny braids woven in here and there. Her face was like looking in a mirror; the same full lips, straight nose, and high cheekbones, although hers were softened and feminine.

“Besides,” she continued, spinning around to face him eagerly. “I have something crazy to tell you!”

“Oh?” His interest was piqued, although with Becca, exciting news could range from finding a new shade of paint she liked all the way to winning the lottery. “What’s up?”

Her eyes - the same light blue as his - shone with delight. “I think I just saw _Captain America_ in the lobby.”

“Oh.”

She looked at him in disbelief at his apparent disinterest. “Bucky! You realize that means you might live in the same _building_ as Captain America?! You could literally run into him at any moment. How amazing would that be? I’m gonna have to start visiting more often.” She waggled her eyebrows at the end, making Bucky laugh. He always forgot how much he missed his sister until they were in the same room again.

When his laughter died down he shrugged. “He actually lives next door.”

“What!!” Her shriek was piercing and shot straight through Bucky’s skull like an ice pick to the brain. In vain he tried to make a shushing motion with his hands, but all he managed to accomplish was exasperating himself. “You live next door to Captain America and you didn’t tell me? Not even a text message? Bucky, I am your _sister_. Does family mean nothing to you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her melodramatics. “I guess not.”

She _tsk_ed at him. “And after all that I’ve done for you. Who got Greg Tipton to go to homecoming with you in junior year, hmm? _Me_.”

“Not necessarily a point in your favor,” Bucky pointed out. “He turned out to be a massive dick.”

“That is beside the point,” she retorted. “There’s a twin code here that you have to follow! Now tell me more. Is he as hot in real life as he is on TV? Is he a bad neighbor? Is he loud? Have you talked to him?”

Bucky rubbed at the skin above his eye, feeling a bit like he was trapped in the middle of a hurricane. He loved Becca more than anyone else in the world, but god, she could be a lot. Especially when he had a hangover. He paused, weighed his options, and finally settled on saying with a sly smile, “He’s a really good kisser.”

He saw the look of confusion flash across her face, only to be quickly replaced with realization, before finally shifting into something more subtle that was harder for him to read. A sadness almost, but sharper than that. Almost like disappointment.

“Oh,” she said. And then, “Why aren’t you dressed yet? It’s almost noon. We’ve got plans and I’ve got stuff to do later.”

“I had a late night,” he said defensively, and her mouth ticked down at the corners ever so slightly. _That_ look he knew all too well, unfortunately. He sighed softly, but kept himself from saying anything. They barely saw each other now that he’d moved out to Manhattan, and he didn’t want to waste what little time they had together having the same old argument. “Give me a second, I’ll throw on some clothes.”

Back in his room he pulled on a pair of jeans that rode low on his hip bones and a shirt that had shrunk in the wash ages ago that he hadn’t had the heart to get rid of. Everytime he moved, the shirt rode and showed off the smooth skin of his abdomen. He tugged on his favorite jacket over it; motorcycle leather with a high collar that was worn from use. He’d be lying if he said his outfit wasn’t aiming to annoy Becca a little. He’d always made an effort to tone it down for her, but if she was going to get all on edge about him kissing Steve, then he wasn’t going to go out of his way to not make her uncomfortable.

He stopped by the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, giving his hair only a cursory glance. The clothes he’d worn last night with Steve were in a pile on the bathroom floor, and he grinned at them as he recalled taking them off in Steve’s apartment with vivid detail.

There was a new message on his phone. He saw it as he snagged the device from his nightstand. As he’d hoped, the message was from Steve, saying what a great time he’d had last night, and would Bucky like to do it again some time? Yes. Yes, Bucky would very much like that. He told Steve so in the message he sent back, complete with a little winky-faced emoji. They should do all of it again in his opinion, especially that bit at the end of the night.

“Bucky, I swear to god you’re going to be running late for your own funeral,” Becca called from the living room.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, tucking the phone away in his pocket, not actually sorry in the least.

They ended up at a brunch place that Becca told him she’d been dying to try where the interior was softly lit and homey. They were seated right away, and after putting in their orders they chatted idly about various things; Becca’s job and her art, what movies they’d seen lately, and what to buy their parent’s for their anniversary celebration next month. Through all of it though, the walk to the restaurant, sitting down, talking, he knew something was wrong. She’d never been good at hiding her emotions, especially from him. He suspected he already knew, but he couldn’t be entirely sure what was going on in her head. Not without asking.

“Alright,” Bucky finally said, after the food had been delivered and they’d both sat there, picking at their meals. He’d spent the last two minutes idly pushing bits of fruit around his plate, trying to decide how best to broach the subject without it turning into a fight. “What’s going on, Becs? You were fine when you first got to my place.” She stared resolutely at her stack of pancakes, refusing to look him in the eye. “Out with it,” he demanded, more firmly this time. “Either talk to me or I’m leaving. I’m not in the mood to do this whole silent treatment angry bullshit today.”

She chewed on her lip, and the sight took some of the wind out of his sails. It was a habit they’d both had as children, and neither of them had ever grown out of it, despite numerous attempts by their parents. It was hard to be mad at her like that.

“I just… Captain America? _Really_, Bucky? Did you have to?”

His concern turned back to annoyance in a flash, and he took back all the good things he’d thought about her in the last few minutes. “Wow, okay,” he said, dropping his fork to his plate, food forgotten. “And what exactly is it that you think you know about it, Becca? Go ahead. Enlighten me, if you’ve got it all figured out.”

She pursed her lips, her face tense and tight. “That’s not fair and you know it. I’ve done my best to try and come to terms with your _work_ over the last few years and-”

“Oh wow!” Bucky said with faux enthusiasm. “How _magnanimous_ of you. Should I kneel and thank you here or would you prefer a parade?”

She glared at him. “Don’t be an ass.”

“Well, when the situation warrants it,” he snapped. “I’d rather be an ass than a judgmental dick. Oh, and by the way, his name is _Steve_, not Captain.”

Her mouth twisted to the side, her expression strained and upset. Her voice was low when she spoke again, pitched so that her words didn’t go past their little table. “It’s just… someone as famous as him? Don’t you think that’s a colossally shitty idea? It’s bad enough already that you go after the men you do.”

His eyebrows shot up and he crossed his arms defensively. “Go after? They _pay_ me. They _want_ me. All I do is provide a service, and I’ve got plenty of business. I’m not ‘going after’ anybody.”

“And what are you going to do when they decide they’ve had enough of you? Have you thought about that?” She was relentless. He wanted to scream with frustration at retreading the same tired ground with her over and over.

“Then we go our separate ways. It’s not that fucking difficult to understand.”

“But Bucky! People with money, _real_ money, who want to protect a secret like that? They could ruin you! They could hurt you, and there’d be nothing you or I could do about it.”

“Becca.” He heart was pounding against his ribcage, his breath coming faster and harder with his anger. “This isn’t a fucking Hollywood movie.” People around them were starting to take notice, peering at the two of them with poorly veiled curiosity. He lowered his voice to a hissing whisper. “The people I see are normal. Some of them have more money than others, but that doesn’t make them psychopaths who are gonna have me killed and tossed in a dumpster the minute they feel mildly inconvenienced.”

“You know I’m just worried about you.”

There was a moment, just a moment, where all Bucky wanted was to keep going. To scream at her until she finally, _finally_ understood. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t make up. They’ve forgiven each other after every fight in their lives, and they’d forgive each other after this one if they had to. Their mother said the two of them had come into the world fighting and would probably go out that way too.

But then… Becca’s face was red, her eyes wet at the corners. She didn’t look smug or petty or any of the things he so desperately wanted to call her in his head. She just looked… sad. He took a deep breath, and then another, trying to calm himself down as one of his hands went involuntarily to the necklace around his throat. Becca had the same one on, even now.

He knew she didn’t understand, probably never would. But she loved him, and sometimes he just had to let that be enough.

“I know, Becs.”

She looked at him sharply, wiping furiously at the tears that kept threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“I know you worry,” he continued. “But I’ve been doing this for a long time now. I know what I’m doing and I know who I’m doing it with. I’m careful and meticulous and all the other things I need to be to keep myself safe. I _promise_. I don’t want anything bad to happen to me any more than you do.”

“I know.” Her voice was a strangled whisper. She closed her eyes and breathed hard through her nose. “I know. I just... I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. Especially if it was something that I could have stopped by saying something.”

“You’d probably bring me back to life just so you could kill me yourself,” he said, offering her a soft smile; an olive branch extended in her direction.

Which she took, smiling back at him, all watery and trembling. “For starters.” Her mouth twisted down again. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry too. Not for my job. But for fighting. I could have just set you straight from the beginning. I didn’t have to let you assume what was going on with Steve, but I did, and then I let myself get angry about it.”

“What’s going on with him?”

This was it. The turn away from the hurt and anger back towards a normal conversation. Another fight they’d survived.

“I know Captain America, Steve, is a good kisser because we went on a date last night. A real one. No money involved.”

“And you didn’t lead with that?!”

He laughed at the return of her usual joyful fervor and picked his fork back up to take a large bite of his now very soggy waffle. The tension between them had dissipated, though it hadn’t disappeared entirely. He wasn’t sure if it ever would, and while he hated that his sister had a problem with such a large part of his life, he also understood.

“It was good,” he told her. “Really good. He’s nice.”

“That’s it?” She looked incredulous as he shrugged at her.

“What else do you want me to say?”

She groaned at him, falling back in her seat with faux dramatics. “Seriously, Bucky? You’ve seen him right? He’s the hottest superhero, behind Thor. He rescues little old ladies and fight aliens. And he’s _jacked_. And all you can say is, _‘he’s nice’_? Oh my god,” she looked at him, suddenly concerned. “He’s not secretly an asshole, is he? Please don’t tell me. I don’t think my childhood fantasies could take the disappointment.”

“Don’t worry, your childhood fantasies are safe,” he said drily. “And we didn’t really talk about… superhero stuff.”

“Well then, what did you talk about?”

He paused for a moment and made the easy decision to leave out the bit about the fact that the majority of the conversation he’d had last night with Steve had been about Bucky’s job. He and Becca were done fighting for the day (hopefully), but he wasn’t stupid. There was no need to pick at the scab until it bled.

“A lot of stuff,” he finally settled on. “He asked about my degree. Told me about his art. He draws in his spare time. And I told him about you. Your job and how you’re going back to school for art and all that.”

“Captain America knows my name?!” He glared at her and she put her hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. I promise to cool it with the Cap stuff. But in exchange, _you_ have to cool it with the playing cool. How was it really? I want details.”

Now there was the sister he knew and loved. “He’s kind of amazing. Not kind of, he _is_ amazing. Thoughtful. Funny. I wasn’t expecting him to be so funny. He’s always so stiff and serious on TV. And shy! He goes from flirty to shy in about two seconds, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. And,” he grinned at her lasciviously, “the sex was absolutely fantastic. Best I’ve had in, maybe, ever.”

She pulled a face. “I really regret asking now. I’ve changed my mind, keep the details to yourself. We can just go back to talking about how nice he is.”

“Hey! I would listen to your stories!”

“I know you would, which is why I have to be the normal twin and _not_ tell my brother all the gross details of my sex life.” She made a horrified face at the thought.

“And here I was trying to share something personal with you. They say sharing is caring, you know.”

“Care a little bit less,” she requested with a shudder. “So when are you going to tell Mom and Dad that you’re boning a superhero?”

It was now his turn to be appalled. “I think I’d rather tell them about the whole escort thing. It would probably be less traumatic.”

She put on a voice that sounded eerily like their mother’s and leaned over the table to pinch his cheek. “Not even the literal poster boy for truth, justice, and the American way is good enough for my baby boy.”

He swatted her away and snorted in amusement as she landed back in her seat with a thump. “We’ve only been on one date. Not exactly ‘alert the press’ kind of news.”

“Alert the gossip rags, maybe,” she contemplated seriously, tapping a finger against her chin in thought. “I’d definitely save the newspaper announcement until at least the third date.”

He frowned. “Not gonna lie, that _is_ something I’m worried about.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your impending nuptials?”

The look he gave her could have frozen hell over on a summer day. “Public exposure. It’d be different if it was just me, but him… He’s got an image to maintain. People look up to him. I don’t think the public would be especially thrilled.”

“Ohhh.” She nodded in understanding, giving him a sympathetic look. “Yeah. No one would understand why he’d want to be with such a weird looking loser.” She held her composure only a few seconds before breaking into peals of laughter.

“Ugh, why do I talk to you again?”

“We shared a womb for nine months. You’re legally obligated to like me.” She dodged the rolled up bit of napkin he tossed at her in a frankly impressive display of agility. “For real though, I wouldn’t worry too much about it yet. Do you think you’ll even go on another date?”

“I’d like to,” he replied. Images of Steve flashed through his head again. Steve laughing, drinking, kissing him in the park. Steve writhing beneath him in pleasure. “The word relationship may have been tossed around a little last night.”

“Ooooo,” she drew the sound out like a giggling schoolgirl. “Why not tonight? Lock that in before he figures out how weird you are.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Ah, I’ve got… plans tonight.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. They both knew what he meant by plans, and neither of them seemed willing to discuss it again.

“Well,” she said, recovering quickly. “Whenever you ask, I’m sure he’ll say yes. If not, then he’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve you.”

“Thanks, Becca.” He beamed at her, feeling warm from the inside out.

“No problem. What are big sisters for if not to call the boy you’re in a maybe-relationship-maybe-not with an idiot?”

“Two minutes!” The familiar words rolled off his tongue, and suddenly they were in high school again, arguing over who got to have the front seat in the car on the way to school. “You were born two minutes before me. That hardly counts.”

She came at him with an objection that made him snort in laughter, and before long the two of them were giggling too hard to even answer their waiter as he tried to refill their drinks.

==⍟==

Watching Natasha train was like watching a ballerina dance across a stage; ephemeral and weightless. Every step was purposeful, every movement graceful and fluid. She was silent and terrifying, and Steve would forever be grateful that she was on their side.

Steve liked a lot of things about Natasha, and one of the things he liked best was working out with her. Although he had brute strength and speed on his side, she outmatched him in agility and hand-to-hand. She was good enough that Steve never worried about hurting her, and it was a relief to finally train with someone where he didn’t have to pull his punches or hold back his strength. And in return, she was relentless on him. She’d probably landed more hits on him than the rest of the team combined had ever managed.

He was lucky to have her as a workout partner, and even luckier to have her as a friend. That much was clear, and he smiled to himself from his spot leaning against the wall as he watched her scale a wall in the Tower’s private gym. He took a drink from his water bottle and mopped at the sweat on his brow as he thought. There was only one thing that was bothering him…

“You know we don’t have to work out _every_ time I wanna talk, right?” he called to her. “I like shopping as much as Clint.”

“Clint doesn’t like shopping,” she called back, the faintest hint of strain in her voice as she hauled herself up the wall. “I have to take him. If I don’t, he’ll wear the same shirt for a week straight. _You_ can at least dress yourself.” She paused in her climbing and looked over her shoulder at him. “Kind of.”

“Thanks for the ringing endorsement,” Steve said wryly, trying to hide his laughter by gulping down more water.

She ignored him and dropped down from the wall, tucking into a roll as she landed and coming up perfectly balanced in a defensive pose. Steve tossed her a towel before pushing off the wall to join her. He offered her the rest of his bottle and she gratefully took it.

“Spar?” he asked when the water was gone and she had dried herself off. The wisps of hair that had come loose from her ponytail had gone curly with sweat.

Nodding, she tossed the empty bottle and towel aside and dropped into a leg stretch. “Are you going to be there tonight?”

Steve grabbed one arm with the other and pulled, stretching his triceps. He grunted as the stiff muscle burned. “I think Pepper might kill me if I’m not.”

“That’s not true. She’d probably just maim you. That way you can still be there when all the winter charity parties start happening next month.”

He made a face as he switched to his other arm. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

Her voice was muffled as she tucked her head down and reached forward to touch her toes. “Tired of what?”

“Being… I don’t know,” he sighed. “The face of this whole superhero thing. Small talk and parties and rich assholes. It’s exhausting. I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

Natasha shrugged as she came up from her stretch. “I was trained to fit into any situation. Believe me, I’ve been in worse. But,” she sighed. “Yes. It gets tiring. But you know Pepper always has a good cause at heart.”

“I know,” Steve sighed. Natasha, as usual, was completely right. He couldn’t resent Pepper for any of the events she was constantly organizing - fundraisers, dinners, charity auctions - each one raising thousands over the course of a few hours. He supported her, he really did. Steve just wished that sometimes he could get away with supporting from a distance, like maybe from his apartment.

Unbidden, thoughts of Bucky sprang into his head. It would be even harder to make himself leave his apartment now that he knew who was next door. Almost immediately he felt guilty for the thought. It was terrible of him to prioritize his own wants over other people’s needs.

“I know it’s for a good cause,” he said again. “There was just… something else I was hoping to do tonight.”

Natasha’s eyebrows raised minutely. “Something, or someone?”

Steve thought he did an excellent job of hiding his reaction to her question. He did his best to keep his expression placid and unconcerned, even while inside he wondered how much information she already knew and how much she was hoping to get from him right now. She _had_ warned him she’d find out, but so quickly? It was like she was a psychic, or had hidden cameras in his apartment. Probably both, truth be told.

She took his silence as an answer. “So it is someone.”

He held out a hand to her, and she clasped it to pull herself up to a standing position.

“I’m not answering that.”

“So what’s their name?” she asked, undeterred, as they took their places on the mats.

Steve stood in a defensive stance and raised his arms, ready. “Remind me why I talk to you again?”

“Because I’m very wise and I give excellent advice,” she said, mirroring his movements.

Steve made the first move. He knew her fighting style, knew that she could outlast his patience a thousand times over. She dodged his right hook easily, which was what he had been counting on. As she ducked, he kicked out, trying to take out a knee or an ankle. She darted back smoothly, unruffled by the change in his attack.

“I guess all that wisdom doesn’t include knowing when to leave the subject alone.”

She went low, sweeping his leg and throwing him off balance. As he fell back, she darted forward and pinned him with a knee to his throat. “Of course it does. Now give up the name, Rogers.”

With a burst of strength, he surged upwards and flipped the hold. She slipped out of his grip with ease and moved just beyond his reach, taunting him. “Not giving it up,” Steve told her. “Are you?”

“You know it’s a lot less fun when you make me look it up.”

They were both on their feet, hands up and breathing hard as they appraised each other, waiting for the other one to start again.

“It’s Bucky.” She made a face at him. “Don’t fucking start,” he warned her.

“So, Bucky.” She circled around him and he turned, keeping pace with her. “What’s he like?”

He moved first again, aiming at her with a series of open-palmed strikes. “Sharp,” he answered. She dodged a hit, took another, and then another, barely grunting as flesh hit flesh. “Smart.”

“Hot?”

He didn’t bend fast enough and took a surprisingly strong uppercut to the chin that left him staggering. “Very,” he managed to get out.

“Good in bed?” She was advancing on him now, taking advantage of his lapse in defense.

“Really Natasha?” This time he ducked in time.

She grinned at him as they broke apart again. “How’d you meet?”

“He’s my next door neighbor.”

She paused, frowning. “I vetted that building myself. I’d remember that name.”

He shrugged, still moving. Standing still was a death sentence when fighting with Natasha. “He just moved in.”

“Any skeletons in his closet I should know about?”

Try as he might to remain cool, the question froze him for a second. Natasha quickly took advantage of his falter and was on top of him in a flash, using her weight and momentum to knock him flat on his back. This time she got an arm around his neck, pinning him solidly. He tapped the tap with his hand, acknowledging defeat. They were both breathing heavily as she let go, and then held out a hand to help him sit up.

“I guess that makes it 121 to 0,” he said with a breathy laugh.

He was surprised when he looked at her. The expression on her face was unusually open for someone as private as she was. She started to say something, stopped, and then started again. “Promise me,” she finally decided on. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

Steve couldn’t help his bark of laughter. “If this is the safe sex talk, Nat, I hate to tell you, but you’re a couple decades too late.”

She rolled her eyes at him, her concerned look evaporating in an instant. Offering him a hand, she pulled him to his feet before thumping him hard on the chest. “Not that you idiot.” She hit him on the chest again, lightly this time, right above the heart. “I mean this.”

He swallowed heavily, suddenly sobered. “As safe as I can be,” he promised.

“Good.” She brushed past him, the moment gone. “Now go grab your shield. Let’s make this one a real rematch.”


	6. Chapter 6

Everything was very loud. When he’d first come out of the ice, Steve had seen more doctors than he’d cared to count, and more than a few of them had diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder. What doctors used to call shell shock and what soldiers called just another day in the uniform. Nightmares, anxiety, trouble sleeping, trouble in crowds. They told him it must have been from the stress of the crash, the shock of waking up alone and confused in a time and place that was no longer his own. He hadn’t had the heart to tell them that all those anxieties had started long before the war was over.

Some of the symptoms had faded with time and therapy; a lot of both, truth be told. Steve had never put a lot of stock in talking things out, and since he was young he’d preferred to solve his problems with his fists more than his words. But the things that stalked his dreams and the ghosts of places past weren’t something he could fight, no matter how much he wanted to. And as it turned out, talk was very cheap indeed once Tony Stark was paying your medical bills.

Still though, no matter how many of these events he attended, they never got any easier. He certainly never got any more comfortable at them. The crowd still made him sweat, the noise grated at his nerves. He wished he could be like Natasha, who flitted from person to person like some kind of glittery golden social butterfly in her elegant evening gown and perfectly coiffed updo. Steve himself preferred to shrink back into the shadows if he could, or maybe disappear altogether. Surely he could get someone else to put on the mask and wear the shield. He doubted anyone would tell the difference.

The ballroom in one of the lower floors of the Avengers Tower had been transformed into a wonderland of soft white lights and elegant lace. The sounds of people talking swelled in the air and mixed with the notes of the classical jazz band in the corner as they plucked out a classical melody. Women in glittering evening gowns and men in expensive tuxes danced and drank and talked. It was everything that a good party should be, and Steve was happy for Pepper that once again she’d pulled it off. He’d had no doubt at all that she would.

But still, that didn’t make him any more comfortable. He hated being here in the spotlight. Hated the women who threw themselves at him and the men who questioned him until his voice was hoarse from talking. He hated having to be ‘on’ all the time. It felt like that’s all he was lately. It had been getting harder and harder to step away from the stars and stripes and just be plain old Steve Rogers. It seemed like no one wanted that anymore. No one was interested in the man beneath the cowl. Not anymore.

Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ward off the beginnings of what he could feel was going to be a downspiral of a mood. He stared at the bar wistfully. He’d long since accepted the fact that alcohol would never be a vice for him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream.

“Steve!”

The voice came from behind him, so he had another second to rub futilely at his forehead and exhale slowly before he pasted on his best smile and turned. “Pepper!” he said brightly as he returned the hug she gave him.

And he _was_ happy to see her. That part wasn’t a lie. He loved Pepper. Didn’t know how she could put up with Tony, but he supposed it took all sorts to make up the world.SHe’d been flitting from person to person all night, and Steve was happy to finally get a moment alone to talk to her. 

“You look stunning tonight,” he told her, and she waved him off with one hand.

“Stop trying to flatter me. We both know better.”

“Then we both know it’s true,” Steve replied and winked at her. She laughed and the humor showed in her bright green eyes. She really did look amazing. Her red hair was sleek and shiny and twisted into a complicated knot at the back of her neck, secured with pins that glittered and glinted each time the light struck them. Strands of carefully placed hair framed her slender face, and matching jewels dotted her ears and wrists. Her gown was an emerald green that matched her eyes, form fitting and perfectly tailored. Tony was a lucky man indeed.

“How have you been?” she asked as they wandered away from the crowd to a spot near the bar that was slightly less noisy. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It’s been awhile,” he said. “My fault, I know, I know. I promised I’d visit more once I moved, but I’ve just been-”

“Busy?”

“Lazy,” he admitted sheepishly.

“How are you liking the new place?” Pepper asked.

Steve couldn’t help it. Immediately thoughts of Bucky flashed through his mind. _Love it_, he wanted to say. _My next-door neighbor is the personification of every wet dream I’ve had since I was a teenager and by some miracle he likes me back_.

“It’s nice,” he finally settled on as he resisted the urge to nervously fiddle with his pockets. “The people who live there are…really nice.”

“Good.” She smiled brightly at him. “I’m glad to hear it. But just so you know, we do miss you around here.”

And the thing was, he knew she was telling the truth. Steve knew he was lucky to count her among his friends. To count any of the team or the people around them, really. How he’d lucked into finding his way to them he’d never know, but he’d always be grateful.

“Oh!” she said, and Steve snapped back to attention. “Have you met Senator Pierce, Steve?”

While Steve had been ruminating, an older man had joined them. Steve estimated him to be in his late fifties or early sixties. He was strikingly handsome, in that mature, rugged sort of way, with silver in his hair and skin that had seen a bit too much sun in his lifetime. But the line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, and his eyes - a piercing blue that had probably stopped women and men alike in their tracks back in his prime - belied his age. His expression, however, shone with a youthful vigor as he greeted Pepper.

“Pepper Potts!” His voice was a deep, smooth baritone, and his smile revealed perfectly straight white teeth as he took one of Pepper’s hands in both of his. “What a pleasure it is to see you again. This place looks amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Senator Pierce,” Pepper said.

“Alexander, please.” He kissed her hand and released it when she laughed and pretended to swat at him.

“_Alexander_,” Pepper repeated, still smiling brightly as she turned to Steve. “This is Steve Rogers. I don’t believe you two have met yet. Steve, this is Senator Alexander Pierce. This is his party.”

The man turned to Steve, his gaze intense. “Captain Rogers,” he said, extending a large hand in Steve’s direction. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. I’ve certainly heard a lot about you.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” Steve replied, taking the proffered hand. The Senator’s grip was firm and strong, the handshake just on the edge of being aggressive when he finally released Steve’s hand. His eyes remained on Steve, and up close they were startlingly clear, the blue like two crystals of ice.

“And nonsense.” Abruptly, the Senator turned away from Steve and spoke to Pepper, picking up the earlier thread of conversation. “The cause is mine but the party is all yours. This event couldn’t have been run half as well without you.”

Pepper laughed as she waved away the compliment. “A lot of things around here wouldn’t run without me. Sometimes I think about hopping a plane to the tropics to see how long it takes Tony to notice that his schedule doesn’t write itself.”

Her tone was good-natured and joking, and Senator Pierce chuckled along with her at the thought. “Don’t let that go on too long,” he cautioned her. “A good man should know what he’s got.”

Steve followed her line of sight as Pepper’s gaze wandered out over the crowd. Tony wasn’t hard to spot, surrounded by a captive audience of men and women dressed to the nines. It looked like he was regaling them with some sort of story; whatever it was seemed to involve some very big hand gestures and was apparently hilarious if the crowd’s response was anything to go by. He looked comfortable and completely content in the spotlight.

“Oh,” Pepper said, as she pulled her gaze back to the conversation at hand. “He does. Speaking of,” she added. “Where’s Mary? I haven’t seen her yet.”

Pierce frowned apologetically. “Mary sends her regards. She was very much looking forward to tonight, but something came up with the family. You know how these things go.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Please let me know if there’s anything Tony and I can do for you. And tell Mary she was missed. It’s a shame she couldn’t come to such an important night for the campaign.”

Pepper nodded sympathetically as she continued to speak. Inconspicuously (he hoped), Steve started to look around, casting his gaze around for a good escape route. They didn’t really seem to need him for this conversation, and he was itching to get away from the crowd of people, even if only for a few minutes. He was just weighing the options between a route that would take him through a relatively empty door but right by a thick crowd at the bar, over one at the crowded front entrance but with fewer obstacles in between, when Pepper said his name and he snapped back to attention.

“Steve, have you heard about the new legislation that Alexander’s been trying to push through?”

Steve exhaled a breath, giving himself a microsecond to catch up and think. Clearly he’d missed a good chunk of the conversation while he’d been planning his escape route. Legislation. Right, that’s what this entire night was about from the short bit of briefing he’d had from Natasha on their way to the party. Some politicians trying to get something done, and sometimes one of the best ways to do that was with money and backing from the big players in New York’s elite social scenes.

Steve mentally berated himself as he struggled to keep his expression pleasant. God, Pepper hadn’t been wrong. He hadn’t been around the Tower nearly enough since he’d moved. He should _know_ this, frontwards and backwards, and here he was, being caught off guard by a simple conversation. He’d let his anxiety and distractions get the best of him tonight. It was shameful, to let his personal feelings get in the way of his job, of the things he knew he ought to be keeping up with. 

All of that rushed through Steve’s head in the few seconds it took him to conjure up a bland smile as he looked at Senator Pierce. “I know some, but I’d love to hear more.” _There_. If Pierce was talking, no one would be asking what Steve did or didn’t know.

“I’m glad to hear you say that Captain Rogers,” Senator Pierce said, looking like the cat that’d caught the canary. “Your support on this would mean the world to so many people, least of all me. Just imagine what we could do for the city with Captain America backing our cause. We wouldn’t even need to put it to a vote with the way the city rallies around you.”

“Put what to a vote?” Steve asked, feeling spectacularly lost and more than a little at fault.

“The new laws we’re proposing,” Senator Pierce answered. His enthusiastic air dimmed a bit as he continued. “Heavier regulations, more freedom for the police to take in known criminals _before_ they cause trouble. I want to give New York a clean slate here. Theft, drugs, prostitution; crime is running rampant through our city. It’s consuming our young people. If we can get the bad apples off the street before they start corrupting others-“

“Oh, hello.”

Pepper’s bright voice broke the invisible strain Steve could feel in the air and he almost wanted to hug her for it, though he managed to restrain himself. He turned to see who she was talking to and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Ah,” Senator Pierce said. “This is James. He’s one of my brightest interns. Since Mary couldn’t come tonight, I thought I’d let him tag along, see how things work in the big leagues.”

“Well, I hope you’re learning a lot tonight,” Pepper said, and whatever she followed it up with was lost to Steve.

His ears were ringing, a long drawn out buzz like a fluorescent light going bad as he stared at Pierce’s intern. _Bucky_ stared back at him, a look in his eyes that was unfamiliar and hard. He was _challenging_ Steve, daring him to say something, to blow his cover. _Expose me and see what happens_, his eyes seemed to say. Well, good for the both of them, Steve had no plans to do any such thing.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” He whipped around to look at Pepper. She was looking at him curiously, and he had the distinct impression that that wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get his attention. “Sorry, Pepper, what were you saying?” Steve did his best to rearrange his face into what felt like an apologetic smile. He wasn’t quite sure that he managed it though. His muscles felt frozen in place with shock.

“The Senator was just introducing you to his intern,” she said, smiling to ease away any worry about offense being taken.

“Ah,” Steve said before turning back to Pierce and Bucky. Which didn’t seem possible, but Steve knew, he _knew_, what Bucky did for a living. So why would this be a surprise? Alexander Pierce was exactly the kind of clientele that Bucky liked to work with. To be honest, Steve was slightly surprised that the Senator would be so bold as to come to such a public event with an escort, but then again, he figured that money must buy a lot of things, and discretion was certainly one of them. He wondered how much Pierce had paid for tonight. 

“Captain Rogers,” Pierce was saying. “This is my intern, James. James, this is Captain Rogers.”

Steve couldn’t help staring again. Bucky looked like a wet dream in a sharply tailored suit, dark grey and slim-fitting, highlighting his waist and his ass. His hair was carefully styled to look effortlessly tousled and there was color high on his cheeks. His eyes picked up the overhead illumination, the light dancing merrily in their depths. 

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Bucky said, sticking out a hand between them. Steve hesitated, glancing between his outstretched hand and Bucky’s face before taking it. A scowl passed over Bucky’s face for just a second, like a dark cloud over the sun, before Steve realized he had taken far too long to take Bucky’s hand.

“Nice to meet you too.”

He was still gripping Bucky’s hand. _Too long again. Get yourself together, Steve._ Luckily, Bucky had the good sense god had given him even when Steve had apparently lost his, and pulled his hand forcefully from Steve’s grasp. The scowl was now gone from his face, replaced by a pleasantly bland expression that could’ve belonged to someone reading the weather report. Not someone who was currently standing between the man he was fucking and the man who was paying to fuck him.

“Well,” Pierce said after a long moment. He was looking between the two of them, consternation written on his face. His gaze lingered just a touch too long on Steve before he looked away. “We should probably move on. People to talk to and the night is still young.”

The Senator turned to go, Bucky with him, and Steve felt something like panic flood him. His stomach dropped to his feet as his vision tunneled until all he could see was Bucky’s retreating back.

Loudly, enough that he knew Bucky could hear him, Steve blurted out, “I’m going to go to the bathroom, Pepper. I’ll be right back.”

“No problem,” she replied. “I was just about to go track down Tony anyway. Make sure he’s not causing any trouble.”

Steve saw Bucky hesitate, just for the slightest second, before turning around fully and walking away.

He barely registered his goodbye to Pepper, and she looked concerned as Steve hurried off to the bathroom as quickly as public decency would allow. He wanted to run, but figured that would be a bit obvious, so he settled for a quick power walk instead. He could always tell people that he had been feeling sick if they asked later.

The bathrooms were located in the hallway outside the ballroom. They were private, with a locking door, and just as ornate as the rest of the place. They were stocked with flowery perfumed soap, and real towels hung on the towel racks. The place was impeccably clean and dimly lit, in keeping with the rest of the evening. Candles that smelled of green apple and honey burned merrily on the marble sink top, lighting up the mirror with a soft glow. 

He didn’t have to wait long before there was a knock on the door and a whispered, _“Steve?”_ Silently, Steve thanked god that he’d hedged his bets correctly. He’d been half expecting Bucky to ignore his very blatant attempt to get him alone, and honestly, Steve wouldn’t have blamed him. But he’d had to try, and hey, it had worked, right? No harm, no foul.

He hoped. _God, he hoped_.

Steve pulled the door open and Bucky slipped quickly into the room. As the lock clicked shut behind him, Steve took in his appearance. He’d looked, but not really in the ballroom, and now he took the time to look his fill.. The cut of Bucky’s slacks hugged his thighs, and the jacket closed over a crisp, white dress shirt. His tie was skinny in the modern fashion, and his normally pale skin glowed with a youthful energy. He looked gorgeous in the dim lighting, and Steve’s hand itched for a pen and paper to put his appearance down to paper.

Bucky, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly so thrilled to see Steve. “What the fuck was that?” he hissed at Steve in a near whisper.

“You don’t have to be quiet,” Steve told him. “Tony’s buildings are all soundproof. A bomb could go off in here and no one would hear it.”

“Fine.” Bucky spoke at a normal volume but his angry expression didn’t budge. “Great. Good for him. Now, _what the fuck was that?_ I’m _working_ and you thought you’d just, what, use your complete lack of composure to announce that to the room?”

“No,” Steve started. “No, not at all, that wasn’t what I-”

“What, did you want to get me a neon sign I can hold? ‘Attention everyone, man caught in very uncomfortable situation over here, please look’?”

“No!” Steve said, throwing up his hands in surrender. Bucky’s blue eyes had darkened, storm clouds rolling in once more. “I just... I wasn’t expecting to see you here. That’s all. I swear I wasn’t trying to draw attention to you, or be weird about it. It just took me by surprise.”

Bucky didn’t look at all impressed. “This is my job, Steve,” he said. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, his body language upset and wary. Steve longed to reach out, to touch him, but the foot of space between them might as well have been a mile. And besides, he realized with a sudden pang of sadness, while they’d talked and laughed and fucked, Steve still didn’t know Bucky half as well as he wanted to. Certainly not well enough to have avoided this particular landmine.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, purposefully relaxing his arms at his sides and trying to look as non-confrontational as he could. “I just didn’t expect to see you in a place like this.”

_Wrong thing to say. Super wrong. Absolutely, positively 100% wrong._

Bucky’s eyes narrowed before the echo of Steve’s words had even faded from the air. _“Ohhh,”_ he drew the word out, bitterness and sarcasm coloring his tone in equal measure. “I understand. You were probably picturing more of a back-alley kind of situation. So sorry to disappoint you.”

“I-”

“Fucking hell, Steve.” Bucky was shaking his head as he took a step back, then another. “I’m impressed. You really had me going there. I’m usually so much better at figuring guys like you out from the start, so good job, you got me. I really thought you were different. But fuck me, right?

“No!” Steve’s protest was so loud he nearly surprised himself as much as he did Bucky, who froze at the sudden sound. Taking advantage of the abrupt silence, Steve pressed on, desperate to be heard. “No. That’s not what I meant at all. Bucky, look at me.”

By some miracle, Bucky actually did as he asked, his blue eyes drawn to Steve’s like a magnet.

“Whatever you’re thinking about me right now, it’s not true,” Steve told him firmly. “It’s _not_,” he said again as a skeptical look crossed Bucky’s face. “Look, I’m an idiot, okay? But please believe me when I say that’s not what I meant. I’m not judging you, and I don’t think you don’t belong here. Seeing you just took me by surprise. That’s _it_. And I’m sorry, okay?”

Bucky still had his arms folded tight across his chest, rumpling the neat lines of his suit. His eyes were hard, his face blank and betraying nothing of what he felt. Steve felt nearly sick to his stomach at how badly things had gone in such a short time.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again when it became apparent that Bucky wasn’t going to speak. “I really am. I didn’t mean to be hurtful, but I’m sorry that I was. I’ll go. And don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure to stay away from you for the rest of the evening.”

Bucky stood stock still. The air between the two of them was so thick with tension Steve hardly dared breathe. The angles of Bucky’s face looked harsh in the dim lighting, parts of it cast into sharp shadows. Slowly, so slowly that Steve wanted to scream, Bucky took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

On the third exhale, Steve felt something in the air shift. Bucky let go, dropping his arms from their defensive position and letting his entire body untense, like relaxing the cord on an overstrung bow. It was another excruciatingly long minute before he spoke, breaking the silence that filled the space between them.

“Don’t go.” Bucky sounded suddenly weary, and the defeated sound of his voice was almost worse than the anger, but still Steve clung to every word, hopeful. “Please. It’s… I’m sorry, too. Wait!” He held out a finger, silencing Steve before he could say anything, “Let me finish. I’m not sorry for being here or for doing my job, but I am sorry for yelling at you. I may have… overreacted just now. This whole thing is new to you. I know that. It’s not fair to expect you to get it right on the first try. You’ve just been…so amazing at understanding all of this, that I forgot that you haven’t been around it before, and I thought maybe-”

“And that’s how I want to be, Bucky.” Steve took a cautious step closer. Bucky’s body language had completely shifted, the air of fury had been displaced by a more melancholy feeling. “You just have to give me time. Tonight, this was…”

“The first time,” Bucky finished for him.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “Yeah. I’ll get used to it. I’m realizing it might not be as easy as I thought it would be,” he said with a half-hearted laugh. “But I’ll get used to it. Seeing you with… people like him.”

Bucky sighed, and now his exhaustion showed on his face. “I can’t do the jealousy thing. I _can’t_. We talked about this. I warned you about this, before we ever even went out together. I like you, Steve, I really, _really_ do, but I’ve dealt with jealousy in my relationships before, and I won’t put myself through that again. Not for you, not for anyone. If that’s the way you feel, I get it. Some people can’t hack it, and that’s okay. But if you’re one of those people, me and you isn’t going to work. Not the way we want.”

Steve could see the light from the flame of the candles on the sink top reflected in Bucky’s eyes. It was funny how different it made them look, lighting the blue up with a yellow-gold cast. For all that Steve felt he’d stared into Bucky’s eyes since they’d met, he couldn’t have said they’d looked the same twice.

“I am jealous.”

Bucky looked at Steve, seemingly startled by the candor. Frankly, Steve was a little surprised himself, but as he spoke, he knew it was right. Anything less than the absolute truth didn’t feel fitting. Bucky had been honest with Steve from the beginning, had laid out his life for Steve to inspect, knowing full well it could cost him the relationship before they’d even begun, but he’d done it anyway. To give him anything less in return would be disrespectful.

“I am jealous,” Steve repeated, feeling even more sure the second time. “Seeing you with him. It wasn’t real before, when we were just talking about it. But now, here, tonight… actually seeing you with someone, it’s real. So yeah. I’m jealous. But I’m going to work on that. I’m willing to put the work in if you’re willing to be patient with me. Relationships go both ways. I said I would never ask you to quit your job for me, and I meant it.”

Bucky chewed on his lip, contemplating Steve with a long stare. “I’m not kidding about this. This isn’t one of those things where if you just wait it out, maybe I’ll change my mind, or see the ‘error of my ways’. I don’t need you to rescue me. I’m happy doing what I do, and that isn’t going to change.”

“I know,” Steve nodded. “I know. And I won’t ask you to. I promise.”

For a moment Bucky looked like he didn’t want to believe him. The corners of his mouth twisted down and a furrow appeared between his brows. Steve wanted nothing more than to reach out and soothe it away, but Bucky beat him to it with a long sigh and half-smile, before he finally nodded back.

Steve’s heart soared in his chest even as he struggled to keep the smile off his face. Sure, they had made up, but he’d also fucked up pretty bad, and he was pretty sure grinning like a loon right now might not go over so well with Bucky possibly still on a hair trigger.

“So,” Steve said once the moment had passed. “James?” He chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve like a petulant teenager. “It’s my _name_, you idiot.”

That stopped Steve cold. “What?”

It was Bucky’s turn now to raise an eyebrow. “You think my parents legally named me Bucky? They do _love_ me, you know.”

Steve was suddenly very glad for the darkened room, because the dark did wonders to hide the blush he could feel quickly creeping up his neck. If nothing else, this was a stark reminder that all the fantastic sex in the world didn’t replace good old-fashioned talking for getting to know someone.

“Why are you using your real name to work?”

Bucky was either extremely oblivious, extremely generous, or both, but either way he didn’t call attention to Steve’s obvious attempt to divert the conversation. “It’s easier,” he shrugged. “I don’t use a last name ever, and everyone thinks James is a fake name anyway. What better way to hide your real identity than in plain sight?”

Steve wasn’t sure if it really worked like that, but he wasn’t about to reignite any sparks now that the flames of conflict had finally died down. “And Senator Pierce?”

_Or then again, maybe he would._

“You know I don’t talk about my clients,” Bucky said, but then immediately followed it with, “Oh my god, you look like a kicked puppy.” He laughed as Steve attempted to rearrange his expression. “None of this ever leaves this room.”

“I promise,” Steve said seriously.

Bucky leaned back against the wall behind him, his face contemplative as he thought. “I owe a lot to Alexander Pierce.”

Steve couldn’t quite stop the questioning look that he knew had crossed his face. It wasn’t that he had a problem with the Senator. Hell, he barely even knew him. But there was something… off that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“He’s one of my biggest clients. I have that apartment because of him.”

“You mean he-”

“No, no,” Bucky shook his head emphatically. “He’s not that stupid, and neither am I. Money trail like that’s just begging to end up in the evening tabloids, and besides, I have no interest in being anyone’s kept boy. But his bookings are a big part of the reason I can afford to pay the rent. He’s… fond of my company.”

Steve swallowed thickly. “Does he…” _Like_ felt too weak of a word for spending hundreds of thousands of dollars just to spend time with someone, but _love_ made Steve feel like his stomach had dropped to his feet. Still, he had to settle on one. “…like you?”

“As much as he loves anyone.” Bucky it seemed, had read in Steve’s statement what Steve himself hadn’t been able to say. “Men like Pierce… they don’t love people. He collects them. Other people are just things for him, symbols. Of money, power, status. It’s a control thing. I follow him around tonight, pretend to be impressed with how influential and important he is, he shows me off like a new, shiny penny, and then afterwards he knows he’ll get to take me home and fuck me. He gets off on it. Like a… a possession thing.”

And even though he’d just promised that he would work on his jealousy, the words still tore something up inside of Steve, something dark and primal.

“And you have to be one of those… possessions?” Steve just barely managed to get the word out.

Bucky shrugged. “For at least the next 24 hours.”

“What?” Steve felt his stomach drop like he’d just hurtled off a cliff. _God_, he berated himself, _get yourself together Rogers._

“He paid for an overnight. I’m leaving with him after this. I won’t be home until tomorrow morning.”

“To where?” He tried, but Steve found he couldn’t help himself. “Do you even know where he’s taking you? How is that safe? And-”

“Steve!” Bucky’s tone was sharp and left no room for argument. “You can’t do this. You have to trust me that I know what I’m doing.”

Steve closed his eyes. Even from beneath his eyelids he could feel Bucky’s eyes on him, two bright points that bored holes through him, burning like embers. He took a deep breath, and then another, and another.

Something painful expanded and contracted inside Steve’s chest in time with his heart. Bucky’s words from earlier echoed in his ears, the words, _‘he’ll get to take me home and fuck me’_ bouncing off the insides of his skull until he wanted to scream. Up until then, he’d been thinking abstractly about what exactly Bucky’s job entailed. Not because he was stupid, but because it was easier that way. But now, with Alexander Pierce’s smiling face stamped in his mind, he couldn’t not think about it. Later tonight, Bucky would go home with him. Bucky would take off his clothes, and lie underneath Pierce, and Pierce would fuck him and...

How would it happen? Would Pierce make him strip? Or did he just like for Bucky to get naked quickly? Would he have Bucky touch him first or suck him off? Did he like it rough or gentle? Did he care if Bucky came? Steve swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. Bucky, facedown in the sheets as Pierce pounded roughly into him, or Bucky with his eyes closed, moaning as Pierce fucked him gently, Bucky letting Pierce come inside him, Bucky coming for Pierce-

_No_. Steve squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He couldn’t do this. _He couldn’t he couldn’t-_

“Steve? Are you alright?”

Steve’s eyes flew open. Bucky was right in front of him, his face only inches away from Steve’s own. His skin was smooth and even and lightly burnished in the low light of the bathroom, and his eyes were a startlingly clear blue, shot through with hazel flecks. He smelled like soap and hair gel and expensive cologne, and Steve leaned closer, breathing him in.

As if pulled by a magnet, Bucky leaned in as well. Steve wasn’t sure who reached out first, but the next thing he knew they were kissing. Steve pulled Bucky closer, pressing their bodies flush against each other, and wrapped a possessive arm around his waist. His other hand wound into the hair at the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky’s own hands came up to wrap around Steve’s back, his fingers digging into Steve’s shoulder blades, ten little points of delicious pressure.

Bucky’s lips were warm and firm and wonderfully soft. Bucky’s mouth opened beautifully for him as Steve’s tongue darted out to explore. Their tongues met and curled around each other. Bucky mouth was hot and so, so perfect.

They stayed that way for a long time, tasting and touching and feeling one another. Steve’s hands roamed up and down Bucky’s back, feeling the fine shift of muscles beneath the fabric of the well-tailored suit. Steve’s hands roamed lower, across the tight muscle of Bucky’s ass, and he felt Bucky smile into the kiss.

“God, you look incredible like this,” Steve murmured against Bucky’s lips, pulling away from the kiss for just a moment. Bucky’s cheeks were dusted pink, his hair lightly mussed. “I want to draw you.”

“Right now?” Bucky laughed, looking delighted.

“Now, tonight, tomorrow. Anytime you’ll let me.”

Steve might have ended up waxing poetic about the way Bucky’s skin glowed almost luminescent, the graceful curve of his jaw, the texture of short hairs at the nape of his neck as one of Steve’s hands took a detour to pass them by, but luckily Bucky headed him off by leaning back into the kiss, cutting off any further words from either of them. Which was fine by Steve. He didn’t need words for this.

Steve felt the soft touch of Bucky’s tongue against his lips, and opened his mouth eagerly to let him in. He could taste champagne, and mint, and something that was entirely Bucky, entirely unique, but no less pleasant. Again, Steve’s hands found their way down Bucky’s back, tracing the long lines of his torso down to the dip at the end of his spine, just above the swell of his ass. The suit he was wearing really was something; tight and form fitting in all the right places. Steve had mercy for the delicate fabric as he gripped Bucky tight, pulling him against his chest.

Bucky moaned loudly into Steve’s mouth at the sudden man-handling, a noticeable tremor running through his body, and he kissed Steve harder. While he hadn’t been expecting that reaction, Steve certainly wasn’t going to complain about it. Experimentally, he relaxed his grip and then tensed again, squeezing the firm flesh of Bucky’s ass tightly, and got another lengthy moan in response. The sound, deep and throaty, reverberated through Steve’s own chest, and he swallowed a sound of his own. His blood hummed happily, and against his thigh, his cock started to swell.

Pressed close together as they were, Steve could feel that Bucky was in much the same position. Reluctantly, he let go of Bucky’s ass, and Bucky whined softly. Steve hummed soothingly as he brought his hands around to fumble with Bucky’s belt. One of his hands brushed the hard line of Bucky’s cock as he worked at the clasp.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped into his mouth, and then more firmly, “Steve, stop!”

Like he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water, Steve sprang back, hands up in the air. “What’s the matter?”

The look on Bucky’s face was grieved as he stood there, his lips red and bruised, hair and suit rumpled, hard cock tenting the front of his pants. He looked utterly, thoroughly debauched, and already Steve felt some of the extinguished desire creeping back in.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, running a hand thoughtlessly through his carefully styled hair, leaving it in even more disarray. “_Fuck_,” he repeated, and then catching sight of Steve’s concerned face, ”Don’t worry, it’s nothing you did. I just... I shouldn’t.”

Steve (as usual it seemed when it came to Bucky Barnes) didn’t understand. “Why not?”

The words seemed to cause Bucky physical pain as they left his mouth. “I… have to. Tonight. Not always, but he likes me to. And I’m… not like you.”

It took Steve far too long to piece together Bucky’s meaning, but once he did, he immediately wished he could just sink through the floor and disappear. Embarrassment flamed through him, and he was sure his neck and ears were red. Bucky was too polite to say anything, but then again, it was Steve’s bullheadedness that had gotten them into this situation in the first place, so he probably deserved whatever circle of hell this current situation counted as.

“Oh,” Steve managed, but it came out choked. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think, but of course, I shouldn’ve-”

“Steve.”

And Bucky was in his space again, when had he gotten there? Steve took a step back and Bucky followed, crowding him, pushing him along until Steve’s back bumped up against the wall behind him.

“Stop it.” Bucky’s fingers were on his face now, cupping his jaw, holding tighter than strictly necessary. His grip was strong and sure, and he forced Steve to look him in the eye. “You’re spiraling. Don’t. You didn’t know. I told you. You stopped. That’s all there is to it, okay?”

Steve nodded, but the pressure on his jaw didn’t disappear.

“I need to hear you say it,” Bucky said, and something in his voice seemed to snap Steve out of the swirl of anxiety he’d found himself in.

“Okay,” he nodded again, and felt Bucky’s fingers relax. “Okay.”

“Good,” Bucky said, and then, abruptly he grinned, and Steve felt the mood shift again. “And just so you know, I have no intention of letting you leave until I make you come. Just cause I can’t doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun.”

Steve didn’t even have time to process those words fully before Bucky dropped to his knees in front of him. Steve stared down, wide eyed and feeling overwhelmed. He was over a century old, he’d lived through a world war, and survived a plane crash into the Arctic. He’d been frozen and thawed and lived more life than most men a dozen times over He was _goddamn Captain America_. And somehow, despite all that, he couldn’t seem to keep up with one man.

Bucky’s hands were sure, his fingers deft as they worked open Steve’s belt, despite Steve’s clumsy attempts at helping. When the belt was undone, Bucky eased them off of Steve’s hips along with his underwear. Free from the fabric, Steve’s cock lay heavy against his thigh, rigid and leaking at the tip. Slowly, so slowly Steve wanted to scream, Bucky ran his hands up the inside of Steve’s thighs, caressing the skin, until he got to the sensitive crease between groin and thigh. Gently, he pushed Steve’s legs apart, giving him a wider stance and firmer footing as Bucky settled on the floor in front of him.

Just the sight of Bucky down on his knees like that was enough to make Steve groan. The color was high in Bucky’s cheeks, his hair had long since lost its styling, the strands wild. His eyes burned like twin stars in a dark sky as he looked up at Steve through full lashes, and his lips were red and full as they hovered in front of Steve’s cock. Bucky exhaled softly, the warm air rolling over the head of Steve’s cock and making him shudder.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Steve said, the words spilling out before they’d even fully formed in his head. Bucky just smiled and then swallowed Steve down

Steve gasped loudly, the sound ringing through the air around them. Bucky gripped at Steve’s thighs as he sucked him, hard enough to bruise a normal man. It wasn’t like before, when they’d had all the time in the world. This time Bucky meant business, and it was all Steve could do to hang on for the ride.

Sensations pelted him from all directions as Bucky bobbed his head, taking Steve down all the way to the root, burying his nose in the thatch of curly hair at the base of Steve’s cock. Steve could feel the head of his cock bump up against the back of Bucky’s throat. Everything constricted as Bucky swallowed, squeezing Steve’s cock and sending delicious waves of pleasure through him. A second time, and a third, Bucky swallowed around the intrusion in his mouth, and Steve’s hands flung about on their own accord, looking for something, anything, to grab onto.

His fingers finally snagged in Bucky’s hair, grabbing two handfuls and pulling tight. Bucky hummed in pleasure and the vibrations shot up Steve’s cock straight through his spine like a lightning bolt. The moan that escaped his mouth was almost as obscene as the wet noises Bucky’s mouth made on his cock in the otherwise quiet room.

Where he might have slowed down before to draw things out, to tease and play, Bucky now drove forward. His mouth was warm and wet and perfect, and his tongue curled around Steve’s cock, the tip of it running along the sensitive underside as he sucked Steve off in earnest. Steve peeled his eyes open - he wasn’t even sure when he’d closed them - to look at Bucky, and vowed to commit the sight to paper as soon as he had the chance. There were dots of sweat on Bucky’s temple, a wild look in his eyes. His chin was slick with saliva, his full lips stretched prettily around Steve’s cock.

Bucky saw him looking and winked, before he hollowed out his cheeks and sucked hard. Once, twice. Steve dug his fingers so hard into Bucky’s hair he surely must be bruising his skull, but all it did was spur Bucky on. Three times. A fourth.

Steve came with a wordless cry, his fingers tight in Bucky’s hair, his entire body tensed like a bowstring. His cock throbbed as his orgasm crashed over him in wave after wave. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could hear his pulse in his ears as he spilled down Bucky’s throat. Bucky never let up on him for a second, continuing to suck him until finally it was over and Steve had to push him away, overstimulated and wrung out.

His cock pulled from Bucky’s mouth with a soft _pop_. Bucky grinned and wiped at the slickness on his chin with one hand as he stood. Steve fought to gain control over his muscles as he shakily redressed, his breath still coming hard and fast. His entire body buzzed like carbonation was running through his bloodstream, his fingertips and toes tingling as he looked at Bucky with wonder.

“That-” he started, but Bucky surged forward and kissed him before he could finish.

Steve accepted the kiss eagerly. He could taste himself in Bucky’s mouth, and it was strange and exhilarating all at once. He’d barely begun to kiss back when Bucky pulled away with a reluctant look on his face.

“I have to go,” he said, and Steve nodded.

“I know. And I-”

“Here.” Bucky reached up, unhooked something from around his neck, and handed it to Steve. “Take this.”

Steve looked at the object in his hand. It was familiar; a simple leather cord and small charm with an embossed star. “Your necklace?” He looked at Bucky, confused.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth ticked up in a half-smile. “Pierce hates it when I wear anything he hasn’t picked out. I usually take this off and put it in my bag before I take off my shirt. But I’d like you to hang onto it. Take care of it, yeah?”

“Of course.” Steve closed his hand protectively over the necklace, comforted by the feel of the worn leather against his skin. He purposefully didn’t dwell on the more upsetting parts of what Bucky had just said and chose instead to focus on the feeling in his chest, like warm honey, as Bucky looked at him with what Steve could only dare to hope call love. Or at least the beginnings of it.

Bucky smiled and kissed him softly before walking over to the mirror. He expertly tamed down his frenzied hair and smoothed the wrinkles in his suit, the expensive fabric mercifully forgiving. In a display of efficiency that even Natasha would have been impressed by, Bucky made himself presentable again in less than five minutes. Steve watched curiously, drinking in every last second with him that he could. Soon enough, Bucky would be gone and he was sure that the jealousy would rear its ugly head again, but he’d deal with that when it came.

Bucky made a few final fixes to his hair and clothes, rinsed with his mouth with water from the tap, and adjusted himself uncomfortably, hiding the outline of his still half-hard cock. He hissed in discomfort at the sensation and Steve ached to push him up against the wall, to take care of him the way he’d taken care of Steve, but he knew that he couldn’t do it.

“I have to go now,” Bucky said finally, coming to a stop in front of Steve. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Steve said decisively. “You go, do what you need to do. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Bucky took one last long look at Steve, searching his eyes for something, but what, Steve didn’t know. Finally, he must have found what he was looking for, because he gave Steve a soft smile and kissed him one last time, just a chaste touch of his soft lips to Steve’s.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Oh, and Steve?”

Steve tipped his head, waiting for Bucky to speak. Bucky leaned in even closer, lips next to Steve’s ear as he said, “You _ever_ pull some shit again like this while I’m working, and there will not be a relationship left for you to fuck up. Understand? Oh, and loosen up.” Bucky tugged at Steve’s collar and tie, loosening them incrementally. “Laugh. Drink. Have a good time. You look miserable out there.”

With a final, firm kiss, Bucky was out the door, leaving Steve feeling like he’d been swept up by a tornado, spun around, and then deposited somewhere wholly unfamiliar. His only consolation was that at least he had some privacy to sort his head out before he had to go back to the party.


	7. Chapter 7

After leaving the Steve in the bathroom, Bucky made a beeline for the bar. The party was still going strong as he slipped back into the overcrowded ballroom and evaluated the crowd. The sudden shift from the close quarters and quiet of his encounter with Steve to the busy and jostling party was a bit like jumping into cold water headfirst, and it did nothing to calm his already frayed nerves. The open spot at the bar was like a lighthouse beacon, and he sidled up to the dark, polished bartop, doing his best to keep out of sight and be unobtrusive. Truth be told, he was hiding from his client. Bucky needed five minutes and at least a shot of something strong before he could even think about going back.

He downed his drink as soon as the bartender slid it over to him without even tasting it, and then signaled for another. This one he took his time with, holding the glass with hands that were still trembling minutely. He had done his best to not show how upset he was in front of Steve, but here he had no one to convince, so he allowed himself the luxury of riding out his nerves for just a minute more.

The entire thing was stressful beyond belief. What the fuck had Steve been thinking? What the hell had _Bucky_ been thinking? He _knew_ better, and yet he’d done it anyway. He’d seen it coming but he’d ignored it completely, and now where had it gotten him? Distracted and unprofessional and really _fucking_ upset, that was where.

Bucky still couldn’t get over the feeling of his stomach dropping down through his feet when he’d realized that Steve was really, genuinely jealous. Steve, who up until that point had been understanding and kind and _different_. But for a moment back there in the bathroom, Bucky had felt like every one of his worst fears were coming true all at once. Steve had been just like every other person Bucky had been with in his adult life. And maybe that’s just who Steve was. But he’d been so good at hiding it that Bucky hadn’t seen, or hadn’t wanted to see, or…

_No. No. Calm down_, he told himself frantically. It was going to be okay. It was all going to be okay. He’d talked to Steve, he’d explained. They’d worked it out. And maybe he’d been harder on Steve than he should have been. Maybe...

Someone brushed by him as they walked past and Bucky took an automatic step to avoid a collision. But then he had to stifle a moan that was so loud he had to turn the sound into a cough just in an attempt to hide it. _Right_. That was the other major problem he had right now. The other reason that the entire thing - running into Steve, meeting up with him in the bathroom, all of it - was so patently _not okay_.

The plug in his ass shifted with every movement he made. It’d been there the entire night, just as Pierce had requested. The hard silicone pressed right up against his prostate, and every time he walked, or shifted his weight, or _fucking breathed_, it sent crackling electricity zinging through him, like a fistful of firecrackers going off all at once in a perfect, glorious cacophony of sensations. Bucky bit his lip until it almost bled.

God, he’d wanted Steve in that bathroom. Not letting Steve touch him had been a test of his willpower that even Bucky was surprised he’d passed. But he’d done the right thing in the end, even if it had nearly killed him in the process. Every moment of that blow job had been pure torture. The sight of Steve desperate with want and need and pleasure, the feel of his cock in Bucky’s mouth, the little sounds he’d made as Bucky sucked him off. And all the while, Bucky had been hyper aware of the plug rubbing against his prostate at the same time that his cock rubbed against his pants. Friction from all sides, but never enough, not even close to enough.

_Damnit_.

He could feel himself starting to get hard again at just the thought, and he hunched over as far as he could without attracting attention, trying to hide the more noticeable bulge in the front of his slacks. He counted to 30 and breathed deep, in and out, willing his erection to recede quickly. Every part of his animal brain screamed at him to leave, to just bolt out of the hall and into somewhere private where he could fuck his own hand until he came with Steve’s name on his lips.

Luckily, the more rational part of him won out. He wasn’t going to run, and he certainly wasn’t going to abandon the man who was paying good money to have Bucky with him. Bucky kept breathing and counting until the evidence of his brief excitement was well and truly gone. He couldn’t go back to Pierce with an erection that he’d then have to explain away. Although, he could always blame the plug. He wondered if maybe Pierce would like that. There was a high possibility that he might.

Finally, when Bucky felt like he could move again without coming then and there and staining some very expensive pants, he straightened up and took a look around. Scanning the room for Pierce was easy. He stood out, a tall, handsome man, who held himself with all the confidence of someone who knew that they had the world in the palm of their hand. In the end though, it didn’t matter what he looked like. Bucky had been with all types for his work, and he’d learned over the years that even the prettiest faces could hide the cruelest hearts.

Bucky made his way slowly over to Pierce, walking with his legs as far apart as he could manage without making his gait look bizarre. Anything to decrease the sensation from the plug. As he slid into the space beside Pierce, he touched the back of his arm lightly, just to let Pierce know he was back. Anything more than that and people would start to notice, and tonight, in public, Bucky was supposed to be Pierce’s intern, not his date.

He assumed Pierce had felt the movement, but he didn’t turn or acknowledge Bucky in any way. He was too busy doing what he did best; charming the men and women around him, and convincing them to spend their money to back his newest project or proposal. It was fine though. Bucky was used to playing this role. He was comfortable with being little more than arm candy for powerful people at these kinds of parties. Pierce, especially, loved taking him to these sorts of events. He never said why, but Bucky suspected it served a dual purpose; both to impress Bucky and simultaneously show him off, even though people rarely realized what was happening.

After speaking at length to a gaggle of men in fine suits and women in floor-length dresses, Pierce finally made a show of looking at his watch. Then he looked up, smiling, and said, “It’s been lovely, but I’m afraid I must go. My intern, you know,” he gestured at Bucky and smiled widely. “Got to show him the ropes while everyone’s still sober.” He earned a few laughs with his comment, and Bucky just smiled and shrugged lightly, sort of an _‘aw-shucks’_ type of movement.

The group slowly dissipated until finally the last man had gone, leaving Bucky and Pierce alone in a relatively empty corner. The night was growing later and the lights had been dimmed ever so slightly, making their little hideaway feel shadowy and secluded.

“You’ve been gone awhile,” Pierce commented, looking Bucky over. “Whatever could you have been up to?” Although he phrased it as a question, his voice insinuated that he knew _exactly_ what Bucky had been up to.

Well... maybe not exactly.

Bucky flashed him an innocent smile. “Drinking. Socializing. It _is_ a party, you know.”

Pierce’s hand was on his back, his body carefully angled to block any potentially curious spectators. Bucky could feel it creeping slowly downward, coasting lightly over each bump of his spine, and then further, over the swell of his ass, and then-

Bucky almost doubled over, nearly stuffing his fist in his mouth just to stop from screaming as Pierce pressed down firmly on the plug. Pierce smirked, clearly pleased by the reaction.

“Well, hopefully you didn’t have too much fun without me.”

Bucky felt a stab of guilt at the comment. Pierce didn’t - couldn’t - possibly know. He was only flirting with Bucky, making a joke, but still, Bucky couldn’t help the shame that crept into his stomach. He really ought to have better control of himself; he’s a professional for chrissakes, but something about Steve has him breaking even his oldest rules.

And then, like some cruel god is out there orchestrating things solely for Bucky’s personal torture, Pierce asks curiously, “Have you two met before?”

Bucky knew immediately, but he feigned innocence regardless. “Who?”

“The Captain,” Pierce answered. “It looked to me like our muscled friend might have recognized you. I thought maybe he had… sought out your services.”

Bucky put on his best smile, the one that had gotten him out of more than his fair share of trouble as a young man. “I think I’d remember _servicing_ Captain America,” he said lightly. (Bucky did. He absolutely did remember it. Every beautiful second of it. But that was not the point right now.) “I don’t know what that might have been about, but it certainly wasn’t about me.”

“Hmm.” Pierce had a neutral look on his face as he hummed. Bucky wished he could read him better, but he supposed that being unreadable counted as politician’s superpower. “Clearly. But the poor man did spend all those years frozen. It’s no wonder his social graces aren’t quite up to par. Not exactly the 40s anymore, now is it. Oh, Bill! How nice to see you.”

By some miracle, Bucky was saved from any more of that extremely awkward conversation by the arrival of another politician whose name Bucky would forget in about two seconds and his equally forgettable wife. He tuned out as Pierce began a conversation, something about zoning laws that Bucky didn’t really understand, nor did he have the inclination to.

“James?” _Fuck_. Bucky wondered how many times he’d missed Pierce calling him.

“Yes?” he asked, forcing a pleasantly bland smile as he turned to look at the three of them.

“I was asking your opinion on Bill’s new proposal James,” Pierce said, with a gleefully vicious look in his eye.

Pierce was doing it on purpose. There was no doubt in Bucky’s mind, and he had to hold himself back from glaring at him. “I think it’s a terrific idea.”

Thankfully, it seemed that he’d given an adequate response, because the man launched into a detailed discourse about the finer points of his new policy proposal. Bucky nodded as he listened, pretending to understand. The man was so caught up in what he was saying, he was barely looking at them, more focused on gesticulating wildly than anything.

Bucky spoke out of the side of his mouth, low and pitched for Pierce’s ears only. “You know I know fuck-all about politics, right?”

“Oh yes,” Pierce replied, leaning in close and equally as quiet. His breath on Bucky’s ear was hot. “But you’ve always been such a fantastic liar.”

Bucky closed his eyes as he felt Pierce move away again, engaging the other man in conversation once more and leaving Bucky blessedly ignored. Bucky took stock of his current situation. His head hurt. His cock was overstimulated and aching, and his ass... it didn’t even bear thinking about. He was horny and wary and anxious and full of energy and every other emotion under the fucking sun. And most of all, he couldn’t stop thinking about Steve.

This was going to be a very long night.

==⍟==

The party lasted a long time, and true to his word, Steve didn’t make an appearance once. Bucky didn’t see Steve once. Unsurprisingly, Bucky found that he was more disappointed than he ought to be. With the extra time and space away from Steve to think, he had started to feel more and more ashamed of the way he’d reacted to Steve’s jealousy. He wanted nothing more than to just skip out on the rest of the night, drag Steve back home to their shared building, and while away the hours talking and touching. After several hours had passed of Pierce making his rounds through the crowd, greasing elbows and securing votes all the while, he signaled to Bucky that it was time to go. Bucky ached to search the room just one last time, hoping for one last glimpse of blonde hair and broad shoulders, before going to climb into Pierce’s hired car. 

They went to a nearby hotel, a huge, towering building nestled right in the middle of downtown, brightly lit like a beacon of wealth and opulence. One of those places where the utmost discretion was built into the exorbitant pricing. Bucky was fairly certain that a night here cost more than the monthly rent on his apartment, and it wasn’t like his taste in housing was exactly cheap to begin with. Few of even his most well-to-do clients could afford this place, but it was one of Bucky’s absolute favorites. Pierce seemed to have picked up on that a while ago, and he made sure to take Bucky nowhere else since. It was thoughtful of him in a way that was almost sweet. 

From the huge floor-to-ceiling penthouse suite windows, Bucky stared down at the city. New York was swathed in the shadows of nighttime, hundreds of thousands of lights from homes and businesses, street lamps and headlights, blinking in the darkness like a tiny stars on the black canvas of space. He watched the people in the streets and wondered at how small they seemed from up so high. Somewhere out there, among all of that, was Steve. Bucky wondered what Steve was doing, what he was thinking. Wondered if Bucky was on Steve’s mind the way Steve was on his. 

Holding his glass of golden champagne aloft, Bucky stared through the bubbles, watching the way the light refracted through the glass and liquid to make everything seem soft and blurry at the edges, before taking a drink. They were so high up here. He reached a hesitant hand out to the glass and felt the cold radiating from where it shielded them from the fall chill outside. Bucky shivered. 

Something warm draped over his back. Standing behind him, Pierce mouthed at Bucky’s neck, his hands coming around to settle on Bucky’s hips. Bucky smiled and tilted his head, exposing more of his neck. The contact was nice, comforting. Bucky had always been a physical person; for as long as he could remember, he’d been the one seeking out hugs and small touches from anyone who would stand still for longer than a second. And later that desire to be touched had grown up along with him. Maybe it was one of the reasons he’d found his way into this line of work. It seemed a natural conclusion to Bucky. 

In the plate-glass window, only inches in front of his face, Bucky could see the reflection of the two of them. Himself, lanky and slender, with Pierce behind him, taller by barely an inch. Pierce must have felt Bucky’s eyes on him. He looked forward, seeing Bucky staring intently at the window, and they locked eyes in their reflection. 

“You looked exquisite tonight,” Pierce murmured in his ear, not taking his eyes off the window for even a second. His hands came up, smoothing the fabric of Bucky’s suit jacket over his chest. “You were born to wear this cut. I love it.”

Bucky chuckled. “You better like it. You picked it out.”

“Oh, did I?” Pierce said, his words playfully casual. His hands continued to roam over Bucky’s torso as he spoke. “I must have fantastic taste then. Or maybe it’s just that such a perfect model looks good in everything.”

“No one likes a bragger,” Bucky told him. 

He turned in Pierce’s grip and kissed him lightly. He tasted like the expensive champagne they’d both been drinking, although Bucky had been going relatively light on his glass. His head was still pleasantly fuzzy from the party. He always liked Pierce’s appointments. He liked all his clients of course, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have favorites. There was something about the ones like Pierce, the ones who made it about the both of them instead of just being about themselves. Of course, Bucky didn’t expect that from any of his clients. That was literally the opposite his job, but still… it was nice now and then. Appointments like this took some of the stress off of him, made it easy and almost relaxing. 

Pierce’s arms snaked around his waist and pulled Bucky closer. His light eyes were intense. “You do, if I recall.”

Bucky pulled back out of Pierce’s grasp, leaned casually on the window behind him. He took a sip of his champagne and hid his smile in the glass. “I do,” he agreed, keeping his tone light and flirty. He knew Pierce liked it when he teased. “All these compliments though. I feel like you’re trying to butter me up.”

“Maybe. Is it working?” Pierce asked.

Bucky looked him over in faux seriousness. “Depends on what you’re selling.”

“Oh, nothing much.” Pierce shrugged, the movement oddly incongruent with his stately appearance. “World peace. The cure to cancer. Eternal life. Just a few small things. Interested?”

Bucky laughed. “I don’t think I could afford any of those. Sounds pricey.”

Pierce’s expression turned more serious, but Bucky didn’t have a clue as to why. “Perhaps,” Pierce said vaguely. “And what if I were trying to sell you a safer New York?”

Bucky tilted his head in momentary confusion, feeling the slightest shift in the mood of the room. “You mean your new legislation?”

Pierce raised an eyebrow. “So you do know a little about politics after all.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m a good listener,” he said. “And the new laws sound like a good idea. For the most part.”

He purposefully left out what that part was. It felt like bad form to bring up the fact that this new law would hurt sex workers when he was currently on an appointment, even though he was sure it was something that Pierce had considered. He was a smart man after all. Brilliant. It wouldn’t have escaped his attention that his proposal would cut sex workers off from much of their profit, not to mention make their jobs harder and more dangerous. Bucky was less than thrilled about it, and he planned to vote against anything that might come before the public. 

But then he supposed that was part of the beauty of the client-worker relationship. It was just one night. They could talk about whatever they wanted, and they could gloss over the uncomfortable bits. It wasn’t like they were in a relationship. The hard talks never had to happen for them. 

“For the most part,” Pierce repeated, inflection falling flat. He looked perturbed, his lips pulled downward at the corner into a frown as he paced back and forth in front of Bucky. “For the most part is all I’ve been getting from people. It’s good, but. I like your numbers, but. What a considerate way of telling someone to fuck off.” He perked up minutely. “But this was just a trial run of course. I’m getting the idea out there. There’s plenty more I can do to persuade public opinion.”

Bucky watched Pierce pace for a while before crossing over to the plush, king-sized bed and sitting on the edge of it. He sipped at his champagne and grimaced. It was starting to give him a headache. 

“What about you, James? What do you think would persuade you?”

_Take out the part about cracking down on sex workers, for one._

Bucky grinned mischievously, trying to shift the focus towards more light and easy flirting and less on his real feelings about the subject. “I can think of a thing or two.”

Annoyingly, Pierce didn’t take the bait. He’d stopped pacing, standing with his back towards Bucky, looking out the window, one hand on his chin as he thought. It made Bucky slightly uneasy, not being able to read his face. 

“What about Captain America?”

It took everything in Bucky to not react to the seeming non sequitur. “What about him?” he asked, as nonchalantly as he could. He took another drink, draining his glass, and then leaned back on his elbows, watching Pierce’s back. 

“I’ve been thinking about trying to get him on board to back my work. The people see his face on something or hear his name, they’ll love it. They’re not nearly as kind when it’s a politician trying to sell them peace and security.” He sounded bitter. 

“Well,” Bucky reasoned, “He is a national icon.”

Pierce looked over his shoulder at him, his face cast in shadows by the warm light of the hotel room. “Yes, he is. Everyone’s very impressed with him. The virtuous Captain, returned from the dead.” His voice took on a dark undertone. “Were you impressed, James?”

Bucky may have been occasionally reckless in his life, but he at least knew the difference between treading dangerous waters and jumping in head-first. “Not that I noticed. How could I when I was already with the most impressive man in the room?”

Pierce made a face, but it was more than clear that he wasn’t at all displeased with Bucky’s answer. “Don’t flatter me, James. It’s not a good look on you.”

“He had a certain…air, I guess,” Bucky admitted, keeping his tone good-natured and easy. “But I only met him for a moment.”

Pierce was silent for a moment, and Bucky saw his chance to escape the conversation that was rapidly growing more and more uncomfortable for reasons he didn’t want to think about right now. He put his glass aside on one of the bedside tables, and then flopped dramatically back onto the soft, white comforter, staring at the ceiling above him. “I love this place. I could just live here forever.”

He heard footsteps, and then after a moment he felt the mattress dip, and heard the soft sound of fabric shifting as Pierce started to undress. Bucky didn’t need to watch to know exactly what he was doing. He was taking off each item of clothing and folding it precisely, meticulously, before moving on to the next. The pants and jacket of his suit would be draped just so, the buttons all aligned, and his leather belt would be coiled into a tight loop beside his watch. Bucky continued to stare at the ceiling, listening to the familiar sounds, until suddenly Pierce was looming over him, a dark silhouette backlit by the lights above the bed. 

Leaning down, Pierce cupped his hands around Bucky’s face and kissed him. His five o’clock shadow was rough against Bucky’s skin. Pierce’s fingers worked efficiently at the buttons on Bucky’s dress shirt and pulled the shirt tail from his slacks to expose Bucky’s abdomen. Reaching down, Bucky ran his fingers lightly down Pierce’s thighs, where his excitement was beginning to show. 

“I can’t give you this place,” Pierce told him, pulling back. “But I can give you someplace just as good. You deserve it.”

Bucky kissed him again. “Who’s doing the flattering now?”

“Let me,” Pierce insisted, sounding genuine. “Imagine a place like this, all to yourself. All of New York at your feet. You’d have everything you could possibly want. You’d never have to work a day in your life again.”

It was all very sweet. At least, that was what Bucky had said the first time Pierce had said something similar. Bucky had smiled and indulged him, but inwardly worried that Pierce was more serious than he let on. Bucky worried that Pierce had started to confuse his fantasy for reality. Bucky bit back a sigh and held his face steady as he tried to head Pierce off before they could go down this path again. 

“Oh,” he said casually. “But I’d get so bored.”

“You’d have me.” 

Bucky made a point of trying not to think badly about any of his clients, but the urge to roll his eyes at Pierce’s comment was almost overpowering. _And your wife_, Bucky thought, and instantly felt the sting of guilt. 

“You could go anywhere,” Pierce continued. “Do anything. And if you wanted to work you could. But at least you wouldn’t have to sell yourself to other men.”

This time Bucky did sigh as he pushed out of Pierce’s grasp to sit up. Pierce looked disgruntled. He always did at about this point in the conversation. Counting to ten in his head to calm down, Bucky tried his best to compose himself. He didn’t slip up in front of clients, he was better than that, but this was starting to get irritating. Truthfully, if it had come from any other client than Pierce, he probably already would’ve booted them.

“I like my job,” Bucky reminded him gently. “I like helping people.”

“People should learn to help themselves.”

Bucky held his tongue, but only just. “Some people just need a little extra help.” Bucky desperately wanted to derail this line of conversation before it got any further out of his control. He hedged his bets and said, “Maybe you’d like an example?”

Pierce took the bait and kissed him again. Later, when the lights were off and the room was quiet save for Pierce’s soft, even breathing beside him, Bucky turned to stare out the windows again. From where he was lying he could just see the tops of the buildings around them. A light went out in the building across the way. Someone had just gone to bed, or maybe they had gone out for the night. His mind wandered once more to Steve. 

He could see his own reflection clearly with the lights out and the glare on the window gone. His stark jaw line and dark hair, the nose he’d hated so much he’d once begged his parents for a nose job before he’d finally grown into it. And his eyes. There was something in there, something that Bucky didn’t entirely recognize, something that hadn’t been there before.

Eventually, Bucky fell asleep, still wondering what that something might be.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a note on his door. It was the same as the last; a single sheet of paper pulled from a spiral notebook, scraps still hanging onto the edge. The sight of it reminded him of sipping hot tea during the winter; warm and comforting and homey. Quietly pleased, but also with not nearly enough coffee in him to encourage a stronger reaction, Bucky pulled the note from the door and flipped it open. As he expected, it was Steve’s untidy scrawl that made up the brief message.

_Breakfast?_

_S.R._

In the bottom corner, he’d added a little drawing of a stack of pancakes, with steam rising from the food and little pat of butter on top and everything. Bucky couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face at that. He rifled quickly through his bag for a pen and scribbled off a quick response before taping the paper back to Steve’s door.

_Love to._

_B.B._

But first things first. Bucky headed quickly to his own apartment and dumped his bag next to his bed. He’d deal with the clean-up later, because at the moment, _he_ was the one who needed it. Bucky was tired. His eyelids felt like sandpaper every time he blinked, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of his breakfast. He smelled like stale champagne and hotel sheets and sex, and he needed, more than anything in that moment, a long, hot shower before he could do anything remotely close to socializing.

With the water turned to just shy of scalding, Bucky practically groaned in pleasure as he turned his back to the showerhead and let the powerful spray hit the tired muscles in his shoulders. He slowly worked his fingers through his hair, scrubbing out the remnants of gel. His thoughts wandered idly over last night’s appointment, which had thankfully gone to plan after he’d gotten Pierce to concentrate on something other than talking, before turning to Steve. He felt a tiny rumble of guilt in his chest when he thought about the party. Last night he’d stared at the ceiling for hours after Pierce had fallen asleep, and he thought he’d come to some pretty important conclusions about his own behavior.

Soapy water swirled around the drain like a miniature whirlpool, and Bucky almost fell asleep watching. Hair done, he moved on to the rest of him, hesitating slightly when he reached below his waist. He was sore. Some clients were gentler than others when it came to penetration, but Pierce had never been especially big with the patience proper preparation took. Among others, it was one of the reasons he had Bucky wear the plug on the nights they were together. And last night, he’d been even rougher than normal. He’d hadn’t hurt Bucky, not even close, but still, Bucky was grateful that he’d had the foresight to not schedule anything for the next two days.

Reluctantly, he eventually forced himself to leave the steamy cocoon of the shower, quickly drying off and picking out a new outfit of jeans and a t-shirt without much thought. He even debated ditching the tight t-shirt and going over to Steve’s in one of his comfy sweaters, but he held back, not sure if Steve would think it was cute or just lazy. They still had a lot of things to learn about each other. And besides, these jeans made his ass look fantastic, so they weren’t entirely all bad.

Bucky’s desire for sleep was strong, but his desire for Steve was stronger, so he took one last longing look at his bed before heaving a sigh and leaving his apartment. As he walked the few hundred feet down the quiet hallway, he wondered where Steve wanted to take him. Maybe he should’ve dressed nicer. Bucky ran a hand nervously through his still-wet hair as he knocked on Steve’s door.

All his doubts evaporated in an instant when Steve opened the door and a heavenly smell hit his nostrils; cinnamon and sugar and honey and most importantly of all, _coffee_.

“Come on in.”

Steve was dressed the way Bucky wished he was, in loose pants and tight-fitting white t-shirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Suddenly, Bucky was excited for more than just the food.

“If you tell me that coffee’s fresh, I’ll marry you right here and now.”

Steve laughed, and the sound was like wind chimes on a summer day. “Well then I guess it is. Should I call the priest or do you wanna do it?”

Bucky had already walked past him, inviting himself into Steve’s apartment and homing in on the smell of freshly brewed coffee like he was a caffeine-hunting missile. The last time he’d been here he’d only seen the living room, and he’d been a little more focused on other things at the time. Now, it was like walking through an entirely new apartment. Steve’s kitchen was similar to his own, although the appliances were newer and clearly used regularly. Early morning sunlight streamed through the cheerful yellow curtains over the window, and underneath the smell of coffee and sugar he could smell the lemon-y scent of cleaning spray. The entire room felt light and airy, like something out of a suburban fantasy.

“You can call the fucking Pope if it means I get some caffeine,” Bucky told him seriously.

Steve laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, but I think I can make that happen.”

Steve trailed Bucky into the kitchen, an amused smile on his face. He saved Bucky the trouble of having to find the mugs by pulling one down out of a high cabinet. As he reached up, his shirt rode high, revealing tanned, smooth skin. Bucky’s mouth suddenly felt dry, and he looked away quickly. His eyes focused on the counter where he saw food laid out; flour and eggs, salt and sugar, and a few other things. _Huh_. Steve was planning to make breakfast. The gesture was oddly sweet and intimate in a way that even sex hadn’t been.

And then there was beautiful, magnificent coffee right under his nose, and Bucky completely forgot whatever it was he’d been contemplating. Taking the cup gratefully, he considered kissing Steve, but then dismissed the idea because his mouth had a more important use at that moment. The first sip scalded his tongue, but he gulped it down anyway. He took another drink before the burning from the first had even faded away. Steve didn’t say anything, which was smart, because any man who came between Bucky and his coffee would be hurt, regardless of whether they were Captain America or not.

Steve had already snagged the coffee pot off the warmer, ready to refill Bucky’s rapidly emptying mug.

“Better?” he asked with amusement.

“Much.” Bucky sighed happily and closed his eyes as the warmth from the cup seeped into his hands. The last few days had been a lot. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and he hated feeling this out of sorts. It was nice to take pleasure in simple things now and then.

“The caffeine monster has been vanquished,” Bucky told Steve, opening his eyes again. “You may approach.”

He felt more human already with the caffeine shock to his system. Bucky knew he’d crash sooner or later - hopefully later. But for now, he at least felt more awake and ready to face a conversation he wasn’t exactly looking forward to having. He set his half-full cup aside, the ceramic making a quiet sound on the countertop. He was suddenly very aware of how very quiet it was in the kitchen. The only noise was the hum of the refrigerator and both of their quiet breathing.

Steve stepped closer, and then closer still, boxing Bucky in until the back of Bucky’s hips bumped into the counter behind him. His body was huge and imposing, but Bucky didn’t feel panicked or caged in. The look on Steve’s face had morphed from quiet delight to something with more intent behind it, something dark and wanting. Bucky tipped his head up just slightly to meet Steve’s and kissed him gently.

He could feel the release of tension from Steve, the way all his muscles relaxed at once. His mouth was hot against Bucky’s, warm and wet and wonderful. Steve’s hands on his hips were firm and grounding, and Bucky closed his eyes again and slid his own hands up Steve’s chest. The hard points of Steve’s nipples stood out beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Bucky circled them gently with his fingers, feeling out territory he hadn’t mapped well enough during their first night together. Steve gasped into his mouth when Bucky tugged at one of them, and paid Bucky back in kind with a quick nip to his bottom lip.

Eventually Steve pulled away, his face reluctant but pleased. Bucky felt much the same.

“Good morning,” Steve murmured, still close enough for Bucky to feel the warmth of his breath on his face.

Bucky grinned. “It is, isn’t it.”

That moment, there in Steve’s kitchen with the sun streaming in and the quiet all around them, was like blown glass. Beautiful and fragile all at once, and Bucky longed to tuck it away forever, to keep them safe and wrapped up tight against the outside world.

“Listen, Bucky,” Steve said, and his voice was serious enough to snap Bucky out of whatever golden daydream he’d been living in. He heard the glass shatter in his mind and he mourned the loss. “I wanted to say how sorry I am. About last night. I-”

Steve snapped his mouth shut as Bucky placed a gentle finger against his lips. “Not yet?” Bucky’s voice was as sincere as he could make it. “I’m tired and hungry and I _missed_ you last night. Just… can we just enjoy this? Kissing and breakfast and… I promise we’ll talk, after. I promise.”

Steve paused, and then nodded slightly, but he didn’t look entirely happy about it. “Alright,” he said. “Later.”

Bucky leaned in and kissed him again. Steve stepped forward, pushing Bucky against the counter more firmly this time. There was a dull ache in his hips and ass, but Bucky ignored it in favor of searching out Steve’s tongue with his own.

Steve was breathing a little faster, his eyes a little glassy when they parted again. “I was thinking pancakes?”

Bucky hated to stop kissing him, but he wasn’t so disappointed that he’d deny himself homemade food. He tipped his forehead against Steve’s lightly and smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

Bucky watched as Steve got to work. He seemed perfectly content in the kitchen, his movements sure and easy as he measured and poured and whisked. Bucky would be lying if he said the fact that Steve cooked didn’t turn him on a little. He’d never gotten past the boiling water stage himself, and Becca liked to tell him that he’d even do that wrong given the opportunity. In no time at all, Steve had the first of the pancakes sizzling on a pan, and Bucky closed his eyes, letting the smell of the cooking batter engulf him.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Steve that he was tired and hungry. He _was_ both of those things, but even more than that, he was unsure of what to say back. He knew Steve was going to try and apologize. Should he apologize back? Something in his gut told him yes, but where to start? Bucky had never been good at being the one to say he was sorry.

Bucky sighed in frustration and rubbed at the corners of his eyes, trying to rub away the rest of his drowsiness. It was difficult here, in this warm kitchen with the smell of sugar and cinnamon and syrup in his nose, and the sound of Steve humming filling his ears and the promise of Steve’s warm body against his again in the near future. Bucky always slept worse in a client’s bed than in his own, and last night he’d been more alert than usual. He’d stayed awake long after Pierce had started snoring softly next to him, staring at the high ceiling or out the windows at the city beyond.

He’d come to the conclusion that he _may_ have overreacted last night. Just a little, but an overreaction all the same. Steve had done nothing so far to show Bucky that he couldn’t be trusted, that his goals were selfish, or… anything, really. Steve had been understanding, and sweet, and so kind and open, and what was a little bout of jealousy on top of all that? Oh, he’d still address it. He didn’t like Steve so much that he’d stand for that behavior on the regular, but he last night aside, Steve had shown no hint of envy yet. It was harder to begrudge him his moment of weakness now that there were a few hours between Bucky and the emotions he’d felt at the time.

Eventually, Bucky got bored and started to wander around Steve’s quiet apartment while Steve continued to pour batter and slide golden, steaming pancakes onto a plate to cool. The inside of the apartment was a mirror image of Bucky’s, but so drastically different they might as well as not been in the same building at all. Everything here was perfectly coordinated; the couch and chairs matched the throw pillows, and they were accentuated by the curtains and dark wooden furniture. It was like the entire interior had been plucked straight from the pages of a home décor magazine. Nothing at all like Bucky’s. Sure he had expensive things, but he’d picked up various odds and ends every time he moved, so the end result was somewhat mismatched, but homey and comfortable. Steve’s wasn’t like that at all. Not a pillow or cushion was out of place. Everything was clearly used, but there was absolutely no clutter, no dirty clothes hanging over the back of a chair, no keys strewn haphazardly across the coffee table. It made Bucky melancholy, though he couldn’t place a finger on the reason.

All the rooms were like that; neat and tidy and completely void of personality, like a bad hotel room, until he peeked into Steve’s bedroom. Immediately, he felt himself relax. In here he could feel _Steve_ in a way that the rest of the apartment sorely lacked. The king-sized bed had rumpled sheets and a dark comforter that had been tossed aside, the headboard matched the nightstands, and all of it was made out of a dark cherry wood that was polished to a dull gleam. He recognized the remnants of Steve’s suit laid out over the dresser and regretted that he hadn’t taken a better look at Steve in it.

On the wall opposite the bed, there were several framed pictures that didn’t look like the stock paintings that filled the rest of the apartment. Bucky drifted closer to see them, running his fingers idly along the wall as he walked. What he had thought at first were only pictures were actually a mixture of pictures and incredibly life-like drawings, he realized with shock. Had Steve drawn these? If so, he was immensely talented, and he’d undersold himself badly during their date. Bucky would have to remember to ask.

There were several pictures of Steve with various members of the Avengers. It was strange to see them all smiling, so different from the serious way they all looked on TV. In one picture, Steve had his arm around a laughing Black Widow, while in another the six of them smiled for the camera, relaxed and happy. The pictures were lovely, but it was the drawings that intrigued Bucky the most. There was a pencil sketch of a woman with Steve’s bright eyes and shy grin, and Bucky could see the love and care etched into each line clear as day. Next to her hung a skyline of the city, but it was different than the one Bucky knew, less buildings to clutter the view. There were several sketches of a group of men in uniform and a woman with dark hair, lipstick, and smiling eyes. There was only one painting; a battle-blasted landscape city with smoke still rising. The emotion rang through in every stroke of the brush. It made Bucky’s insides ache and he looked away quickly.

He left Steve’s bedroom and closed the door firmly behind him, feeling oddly like he knew Steve better now than when he’d gone in.

When he got back to the kitchen, Steve was standing with an amused smile on his face as he slid plates onto the small breakfast table. “Find anything you like?”

Bucky decided to hedge his bets. “A few things. I liked your bed. Nice and solid. Big.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows in exaggeration.

Steve laughed so hard he nearly dropped the plate he was holding. “Well,” he finally got out. “I’m a big guy.”

Bucky shrugged and slid into a chair, feeling his thighs twinge in annoyance at the sudden change in posture. “Can’t argue there.”

“Anything other than coffee to drink?” Steve asked. Bucky gazed longingly at the half-full coffee pot before sighing. “I should probably drink some water. Drank more than I meant to last night, and I don’t want to end up with a headache.”

“On purpose?” Steve asked.

Bucky gave him a look, and Steve raised his hands in a placating gesture. Bucky ignored the question in favor of watching as Steve brought over a glass of water and a bottle of maple syrup to the table. The sun coming in the curtains was brighter now, more insistent as it rose higher in the sky. Steve had cracked the window over the sink while Bucky had been exploring, and just a wispy hint of almost-winter air cooled the hot kitchen. The entire thing was perfectly domestic.

Bucky groaned happily after his first mouthful of pancakes and syrup. “Marry me,” he said, loading up his fork again.

Steve chuckled and took a bite of his own. “You already said that about the coffee. Besides, I don’t usually marry a guy on the second date.”

“Third,” Bucky corrected him.

“Third?”

“The night we met. You kept me from throwing up on your couch and I stole your trash can. In some countries that’s practically common-law.”

Steve rolled his eyes good naturedly as Bucky stuffed another heaping bite into his mouth in what was probably a fairly unattractive fashion. “Well, who am I to argue with solid logic like that?”

“Wow,” Bucky said, drawing the word out. “A man who can cook _and_ knows when to quit. Are you sure you’re real?”

Steve kicked him gently under the table and Bucky beamed back at him. The silence between them was comfortable as they ate their breakfast. Steve’s cooking really _was_ good, and for once, Bucky didn’t feel the need to talk to fill the space between them. When their dishes were nearly empty and Bucky had gulped down his second glass of water, Steve spoke again.

“So about last night.”

Bucky groaned internally. He really didn’t want to do this right now. He didn’t want to work through his feelings and process his emotions, even though he knew it was really the only option. All he wanted to do was live in this soft, fuzzy space forever, here in the sunshine at Steve’s breakfast table, the smell of coffee and syrup in his nose, and his stomach full and sated. And that _bed_. Bucky had been half-daydreaming about falling headfirst into the mattress, wrapped around Steve for some much-needed sleep.

But he didn’t do that. Instead he said, “Last night.”

“Listen I-” Steve started and then paused. He started again after a moment. “I’m sorry for how I acted. I saw you and him, and it was like everything around me stopped and it was the only thing that I could focus on. I didn’t handle it well, I know that. And it wasn’t fair to you. I could’ve accidently exposed you, acting like that, or lost you a client. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

Bucky looked down at his lap as he spoke, trying to get out the words while he still knew what he was going to say.

“I don’t love the way you handled it,” he admitted quietly. “But... that’s not just on you. I did a shit job of handling the situation too. I reacted… strongly. Worse than I should have. It wasn’t right of me to expect you to automatically know what to do in a situation you’ve never been in before. Especially a situation I didn’t do a great job of preparing you for in the first place.”

He looked up just as Steve’s mouth twisted into a frown. “You shouldn’t have to prepare me in the first place. I’m an adult.”

“It’s a little bit different than practicing small talk before a party,” Bucky said gently. “I just… want you to know that I’m sorry too.” Steve’s mouth lifted in a hesitant smile that froze when Bucky continued speaking. “But I _do_ want to talk about it, Steve. Because this… it’s a big thing. I _need_ to be sure that me and you’ve got everything out in the open before we move on. Because this _will_ happen again. As much as I hate it, it will. And I can’t... I don’t want you to bottle it up and put on a brave face. That’ll only lead to something neither of us want, believe me.”

Steve nodded, his face serious. “Yeah. Okay. Um. In the interest of that then… is it okay if I ask a few things?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, relieved that Steve really seemed to be listening to him. “Of course. That’s exactly what I want.”

Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. “Do you do a lot of events like last night?”

“A few.” Bucky tipped his head as he thought. “Less than you’d think really. And mostly with Pierce. He likes to take me to those sorts of things.” Bucky didn’t miss Steve’s quick wince. “He bothers you, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t-”

“Be _honest_.”

Steve took a deep, fortifying breath. “Yes,” he admitted. “He bothers me, and I don’t know why. He seems… fine, I guess, but just… the thought of him touching you was hard. Much harder than I thought it would be. And I know, I know, that’s what I signed up for. It was just… hard,” he finished lamely.

“Steve.” Bucky’s hands tightened involuntarily in his lap as he forced himself to say what he knew he needed to. “Do you want out? I won’t blame you if you do.”

“God, no!” Steve sat up straight and looked at Bucky in shock. “No, nothing like that! I like you Bucky. I want to keep going out with you. I just, I don’t know.” He scrubbed his hands across his face in frustration. “I want to know about your life, I do. But I also don’t-”

“-want the details,” Bucky finished for him.

“Yeah.”

Bucky gave Steve a half-smile, the best he could muster with all the emotions swirling through him. “That’s fine. I don’t particularly want to give you the details of it either. At least, not that part of it.”

“Really?”

“I want my job to stay at the door when I come home Steve. Or at least the parts of it like that. The jealousy, or the exhaustion, or the days where I just plain don’t feel like it. Do you know how much harder it is to arrange all my appointments in hotels? There’s a reason why a lot of sex workers see clients where they live. It saves a ton of time and stress, and honestly, it’s just easier. But I don’t want to do that. I _need_ that separation. Just because I love my job, that doesn’t mean it’s all that I am.” He huffed out a breath of air. “And it’s okay to be jealous,” he admitted. “It’s natural. Normal. It’s just… how you handle it that matters.”

Steve looked downcast and Bucky hated it. “I know. I’m so sorry, Bucky, for bringing that into our relationship.”

“No,” Bucky insisted quickly. “Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t tell you all of that to guilt-trip you. That’s not what I want. I told you because it’s important to me. It’s something I need, and I want to share it with you. My… almost, kind-of boyfriend.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “Almost, kind-of?”

Bucky shrugged. “I mean, I guess I like you enough and all.”

“Wow.” Bucky could see the moment when Steve’s hands relaxed on the table and the weight of their conversation started to dissipate. “Such high praise. I like the sound of almost-kind of boyfriend, but…”

He paused, his mouth twisting and Bucky’s heart sank to the floor. Had he misjudged that badly?

“I kind of like the sound of just plain old boyfriend better.”

It was like surfacing from the bottom of a deep pool and pulling in a breath of fresh air. Bucky felt his entire body sink into the relief. “Boyfriend then.” He smiled. “I think I can work with that.”

Steve pushed out of his chair, remnants of his food seemingly forgotten, and walked lightly over to Bucky, pulling him up with a firm grip. The kiss was gentle, and Bucky could feel Steve’s relief in every move of his lips against Bucky’s. He tasted like syrup and butter and sugar.

They stayed like that for a while, content to taste and feel each other. Bucky’s eyes drifted closed as he let himself drift off into the feeling. And then, like a light switch being flipped, there was an abrupt change in the energy between them. Steve pushed harder and Bucky pushed back, nipping at Steve’s lip. He shivered as Steve got a hand around the small of Bucky’s back and pulled him closer.

Somehow, Steve got Bucky turned around with his back to the table, barely giving him any warning before Steve’s hands were suddenly under his thighs and hauling him up onto the tabletop. He stifled a sharp breath at the dull, achy pain as his ass hit the hard surface. He did his best to turn it into a happy sound as he surged forward to kiss Steve even harder.

_Fuck_. Bucky had asked for honesty. That was half the point of their conversation this morning, and now here he was, holding Steve to a standard that he hadn’t even thought of twice before breaking. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to stop, didn’t want the look of happiness on Steve’s face to disappear when Bucky told him that he wasn’t up for sex after last night.

Steve stopped the second he felt Bucky tense up, pulling back and inspecting him. “Are you okay?”

Bucky’s tongue was frozen to the roof of his mouth. Steve’s eyes were full of concern, and that somehow made everything even worse. “I’m fine,” Bucky said. He knew what he was doing and couldn’t stop himself. Steve had given him the truth, and Bucky had returned the favor by lying to him. “It’s just, maybe we should cool it. I’m kind of a mess this morning. And I’m sure I look worse than I feel.” He forced a fake laugh.

Steve pulled back a bit, still smiling His forehead was tipped against Bucky’s, their lips nearly touching still. His hand on the back of Bucky’s neck was solid, his breath warm against Bucky’s lips. “You don’t need to dress up for me.”

_That fucking line_.

Bucky had a near visceral reaction to the words. It wasn’t Steve’s fault at all. He’d meant the words sincerely. He couldn’t have known that Bucky had heard them over and over, serious and playful and angry, whispered and shouted, phrased every way possible but all somehow the same. And for a moment, just a second, really, Steve wasn’t Steve, but every client that Bucky had ever had who wanted something more. Every one that got too familiar, too close, assumed too much. His heart ached in his chest and his vision swam. The room felt too small, his limbs large and unwieldy. He was vaguely aware that he might be panicking.

He pushed Steve back, rougher than he’d have liked. Steve stumbled back surprised. “I have to go,” Bucky mumbled, looking anywhere but at Steve’s face. “It’s fine, I just, I have something that I forgot-“

“Bucky, what-”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said over him, hopping down off the table and pushing past Steve. “I’ve got plans today, and I- thanks for breakfast. And the talk. It was good. I feel a lot better now.”

Steve followed Bucky to the door, every inch of him screaming confusion.

“Bucky, wait,” he said, pleading. “Something’s wrong. What happened?”

“Nothing.” Bucky forced himself to look into Steve’s eyes and smile, knowing full well that he was making everything worse but wholly unable to stop himself. He just needed _out_. “Really. Nothing, I promise.”

“If I did something-”

“You were perfect,” Bucky cut him off again and rushed forward to kiss him. Their lips barely even touched, but Bucky tried his best to pour everything good he felt about Steve into the kiss, something to let Steve know that it wasn’t his fault.

He could still feel Steve’s eyes burning him like fire as he escaped down the hall and into his apartment.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING;  
This chapter contains some an uncomfortable sexual situation. There is no rape and no injuries, but if you feel uncomfortable, you can check the bottom of the chapter for a detailed overview.

Confusion would be an easy word for what Steve was feeling. Baffled. Bewildered. In the complete fucking dark. Those might be a little bit more accurate.

That morning had been perfect. Having Bucky in his apartment, lighting up the space with his easy smile and his sarcastic humor and his ridiculous flirting. Steve’s home had felt alive in the way it could only feel when it had another living body there. And to have it be Bucky felt _right_ in ways that Steve couldn’t explain if he tried. He couldn’t have dreamed up Bucky if he’d tried, yet somehow he was there, calling Steve his boyfriend. Steve was nearly 100 years old and completely unashamed to say that he had been giddy like a school child over it.

The talk at breakfast had been hard, but he’d known it was coming. He’d spent half the night in front of the mirror, wording and rewording what he wanted to say to Bucky. And after they had talked, Steve had felt ten times lighter. But then they had kissed and...

Steve scrubbed his hands over his eyes hard, trying to make sense of the image of Bucky, spooked and upset as he all but ran from Steve’s apartment. Was it something Steve had done? Something’s he’d said? The uncertainty of it was maddening, and Steve couldn’t forget the look in Bucky’s eyes when he’d left.

“Earth to Captain Rogers. You gonna sit there like that all night, or are you gonna play?”

Steve dropped his hands and shook his head like he could shake out the images it held. “Alright, alright,” he said, forcing a voice that sounded much more cheerful than he felt. “I didn’t know you were that eager to lose Tony.”

“You know it only counts as losing if, you know, you actually lose?” Tony said. “Which I won’t.”

“Steve, you know stalling only makes his annoyance more powerful,” Clint said.

Steve glanced at his cards and at the cards already out on the table. He was definitely losing this round. He hadn’t won a round all day in fact. It was like the universe wanted to kick him while he was already down. In fact, he probably would’ve quit two hands ago if there was anything else to do. But he was stuck on call in the Tower for the next couple of hours as back-up protection for some foreign diplomat. Steve wasn’t sure which. He was only sure that his cards were absolute crap.

He dropped them onto the table, folding, and Clint and Dum-E quickly followed suit.

“Aww, this is almost too easy,” Tony said as he pulled the pile of bills they’d been playing for across the table to add to his already growing pile. “Takes all the fun out of it. Is it wrong to take money from the elderly?”

If Tony felt the rather hard kick that Steve directed towards him under the table, then he didn’t show it.

“No,” Clint told him. “But it is wrong to take money from the poor. So gimme.” He made a grabbing motion with his hands.

“You’re hilarious,” Tony responded, dropping the last of the bills next to himself.

Steve shuffled and dealt out another hand while doing math in his head to try and figure out how much money he was probably going to lose today. He winced at the final number. Usually he was much better at poker than this. But then again, so were the others. Steve had his memory and months of nothing to do in the ruins of bombed out towns but play cards for half-smoked cigarettes and cold rations, but Tony was a certifiable genius and Clint had the best dumb luck of anyone Steve had ever met. _Including_ the ones who’d survived death.

“How much longer?” Clint asked. “I don’t think my wallet can take much more.”

Steve passed him his cards and Clint looked at them. Steve knew right away that he had a good hand; Clint’s poker face was terrible. Steve slid Tony’s cards over next and then Dum-E’s. The robot accepted them with a beep of thanks.

“Five more hours,” Tony said. “I raise,” he said, adding a bill to the already sizable pile in the middle of the table.

Steve looked at his hand, a pair of tens, and tossed a bill to the middle of the table. Five more hours. He should have known this would be a boring assignment. He couldn’t help but find it mildly ironic that he was sitting here wishing for at least one alien, or even a mildly radioactive dog, when usually all he wanted was peace and quiet.

Dum-E beeped again, picked up a new card, and put down a bill from its own small stack.

“Aright,” Tony told the robot. “But don’t come running to me when you’re out of money.”

“I’d like it on the record that I have an objection to Dum-E playing if the money’s just going back to Tony,” Clint said.

“Creator’s fee,” Tony replied easily.

“What?”

“Look,” Tony said, spreading his hands wide, “I created Dum-E. I created the place you live. Creator’s fee. You’re welcome.”

Clint flicked a coin across the table and it hit Tony squarely in the forehead. “Back me up here, Steve,” Clint said.

Steve’s mind had wandered again. Bucky’s face this morning. What the hell had happened?

“Uh-yeah,” Steve answered half-heartedly. He evaluated his cards. “I’m out.”

They revealed their cards and Clint practically crowed in delight. “Looks like the tide’s a-turnin’ boys.”

Tony was uncharacteristically quiet as Clint gathered up his winnings. “Something up, Rogers? I mean, you’re bad at poker, but you’re not normally _this_ bad.”

Steve looked at him, but Tony had his eyes down, concentrated on organizing his bills.

“It’s been a long week,” Steve finally said.

“A long week, or a _long_ week?” Tony asked.

“The second one.”

The robot passed him a new hand of cards and Steve looked at them:a pair of kings, a 6, a 2, and a 4. Another bad hand. Luck had all but abandoned him it seemed.

Clint, who was up and rooting around in the fridge, had apparently been listening. His voice was muffled by the door as he leaned down to pull something out. “Well, do you wanna cry about it, or do you wanna drink beer about it?”

Clint popped back up and kicked the fridge door shut as he tossed a bottle to each of them. Steve caught it easily. The glass was cold, condensation already forming on its surface. He cracked it open with his hand.

“You know you really shouldn’t be drinking on duty?” Steve asked.

“I think the real issue here is that I shouldn’t be on duty when I’m drinking,” Clint responded, opening his own bottle with the bottle opener he’d snagged on his way back.

“And the citizens of the world sleep safe at night, knowing a drunk guy with a bow and arrow stands between them and swift annihilation,” Tony said dryly.

Clint flipped Tony the finger as he sat down and looked at his cards. He made a sour face. “I think Dum-E’s helping you cheat.”

“What do you have against my robot, Barton?”

Steve tuned the two of them out in favor of pulling out his phone as they volleyed joking arguments and snide comments back and forth. It was just past 5pm. His finger hovered above the screen, hesitant, before he pulled up his texts from Bucky. The last one Bucky had sent had been yesterday, a row of laughing smiley faces. Steve clicked on the message, opened up the keyboard, and then stopped. He wasn’t sure what to say. Sorry? But how could he say sorry when he still didn’t know what the hell had even happened? Are you okay? That at least seemed more reasonable to ask. But Bucky had looked for all the world like he wanted to be left alone. If Steve sent a text, would that be considered bothering him? Or would Bucky appreciate that Steve was thinking of him? It was all so fucking confusing.

Suddenly the phone screen went black and the phone was yanked out of his hands. He looked up just in time to catch sight of Tony powering the phone down and dropping it onto the table.

“Whoops,” Tony said. “You know the rules, Cap, no personal phones during work hours. _Tsk tsk tsk_.” He shook his head at Steve. “Don’t make me sic the big boss on you.”

Steve glared at him. “Tony,” he said warningly.

“Steve.” Tony met his glare with equal intensity.

“Tony, give me back my phone.”

“Not unless you agree to stop staring at it like it killed your dog.”

“Hey!” Clint interjected, just as Steve pushed back his chair to get up. “Don’t bring dogs into this, you monster!”

“Fine, fine!” Tony threw up his hands in frustration and then slid the phone back across the table. It came to a slow stop in front of Steve. “Well fuckin’ excuse me for trying to help you to not be such a sad-sack.”

“Shut up and deal the cards, Tony.”

Tony huffed indignantly as he scooped up the cards and began to shuffle them. Dum-E reached over a metal hand to help, and Tony swatted at it gently. Steve picked up his beer and drank half the bottle in one long swallow, even more bitter than usual that it had no effect.

“Steve,” Clint said quietly from beside him. Tony and Dum-E were arguing (well, Tony was, Dum-E was beeping) over who had bent or not bent the top of one of the cards. “Tony’s a bit heavy-handed about it, but he’s right you know. Staring at it isn’t going to make whomever you’re waiting for contact you any faster.”

Steve chuckled sadly. “I’m that pathetic, huh?”

Clint shrugged a shoulder and took a drink. “Everyone’s gotta be sometime.”

“Yeah.” Steve looked at his phone again, screen black where it rested on the table. “I guess so.”

Tony dealt out the cards, Steve looked at his hand, and they began again. 

==⍟==

The crowd of people on the subway was ridiculous. This was New York after all, and it was crowded, but today the cramped car felt even more full than normal. Bucky was grateful, because the more people there were, the less they tended to look at their fellow passengers. Bucky didn’t need the extra eyes on him today. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it at all. He was full of nervous energy; his knees jittered and he kept clenching and unclenching his hands, closing his fists so tightly that he had left little half-moon nail marks on his palms. The subway car creaked and groaned around him as it rushed noisily along the tracks, but the sound was nothing compared to what was going on in Bucky’s head.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. _God_, what an idiot he’d been. Why the hell had he let that happen? He was such a fucking hypocrite, telling Steve not to lie to him, and then turning around and trying to lie through his teeth. And why had he even felt the need to lie in the first place? Try as he might, Bucky couldn’t explain it anymore than he could justify his overreaction. And Steve’s _face_ when Bucky made his excuses. He couldn’t get it out of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Steve’s concerned expression, and hated himself just a little bit more.

He got off the train two stops early, feeling overwhelmed and closed in by the creaking metal and press of the crowd. The city air, thick with the smell of motor oil and gasoline, was like a breath of fresh oxygen to his overstimulated senses. For a moment, he leaned against the stair railing, trying to catch his breath and center himself, feeling inexplicably like he was falling even though his feet were on solid ground.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way, but it was long enough to get jostled and cursed at by several angry commuters that’s for sure. Eventually, his breathing slowed and evened out, and his heart stopped its galloping in his chest. He opened his eyes, not even aware that he’d shut them. Around him, everything was normal. The world didn’t stop because Bucky Barnes had a damn panic attack, he supposed.

Night was just starting to fall as the sun slipped below the horizon, the residual light of the day hanging on feebly as street lamps started to flicker on. It was cold too. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself instinctually. He wasn’t wearing nearly enough clothes for late November in New York, just yesterday’s jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt made out of dangerously sheer fabric. He shuddered again as a particularly chilly gust of wind blew by, ruffling his unstyled hair. He should’ve thought about the weather before he’d left his apartment. After all, he’d had hours of hiding in his room after he’d left Steve’s with nothing to do but think. _Stupid stupid stupid_.

The only good thing about the entire mess was that the cool air was doing wonders to calm him down. It was the best luck he’d had all day at that particular task. After leaving Steve’s - _running out, you ran out, you coward_ \- Bucky had spent the majority of the day alternately drinking and panicking. He’d tried everything he could think of to stop the train of his thoughts before it barreled out of the station, but nothing had worked. None of his usual methods of self-soothing - long showers and online shopping mostly - could cut it, and when he’d finally heard Steve leave his apartment sometime in the early afternoon, the guilt he was feeling had only gotten stronger.

Fortunately for his body temperature, the place Bucky was headed for turned out to be only a few blocks from where’d he gotten off the subway. The heated air of the cocktail lounge bathed him in warmth as soon as he walked in the doors. He ignored the front-of-house staff in favor of walking straight into the lounge and looking around. Bucky spotted her almost immediately, her youth and the bright color of her clothes setting her apart from the mostly older businessmen patrons who filled the tables.

“Becca!”

She spun around in her bar stool at the sound of his voice, and bounced out of her seat when she spotted him. She had worn her long brown hair twisted into twin knots at the back of her head today, and her bright magenta peacoat clashed with her orange leggings in a way that she somehow managed to make look good.

“Bucky.”

She folded him up into a tight hug as soon as she got to him, and the comfort of her familiar arms wrapped around him left him aching. It was wonderful and exactly what he needed, and at the same time, not nearly enough. His eyes burned, moisture gathering at the corners as he clung tighter. When he finally relinquished his hold on her, she grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him out at arms-length from her as she inspected him. She looked him up and down, and as her eyes swept across his face her look of unease deepened. It was a testament to their ability to read each other that she didn’t say anything, just grabbed his hand and tugged, pulling him along behind her. 

Winding their way through the tables, Bucky felt about as inconspicuous as a fox in a henhouse. Why the hell had he chosen this place again? It was smack dab in the middle of Manhattan. It was upscale and expensive, the interior all done up in silver and chrome and glass like a modernist art piece. The bar portion wasn’t packed yet, but it would be soon enough as night continued to descend. The crowd now consisted mostly of older men in crisp business suits making deals over drinks that they’ll write off later on their expense accounts, mixed in with the occasional group of socialites in all their shiny, glittery glory. Bucky, with his unkempt hair and rumpled clothes, didn’t belong. It was an odd feeling, one that he wasn’t particularly used to, but at least it seemed to fit the tone of the rest of his day. Any other day but this one, and Bucky would have been one of those people dressed to the nines and sipping overpriced drinks. But here he was, looking like something Becca had dragged off the street instead.

Life could be funny like that.

Becca led him all the way to a secluded round booth in the back. The tabletop was a dark, polished mahogany, and the lighting overhead was warm and low. This corner of the lounge was cast into shadow by wall hangings that partially hid them from the view of the rest of the room.

_And God bless her_, she already had a shot of something dark and golden waiting for him on the empty table. He grabbed it gratefully and tipped it back, the bourbon (as it turned out) burning his throat on the way down. She waited, watching patiently, while he returned the now-empty shot glass and got settled across from her on the curved leather-upholstered bench before saying anything.

“You look like crap.”

He laughed without the slightest bit of humor. “Thanks,” he replied bitterly, even though he knew she was completely right. He’d seen himself in the mirror. He knew about the dark, bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes and the dull pallor of his skin. He hadn’t put in nearly the normal amount of effort that he typically took with his appearance, as in, he hadn’t put in _any_ effort at all.

“You’re welcome,” she said without missing a beat. “Now talk to me. Your text was super vague. All you said was something about Steve and needing to drink.” She cast her gaze around the lounge before adding, “Nice choice, by the way. I feel deeply, deeply poor.”

He barely even registered what she was saying, he was so deep in his own miserable thoughts. “I messed up, Becs.” His voice was nearly a whisper.

“What happened?” She looked at him sharply, her tone turning suddenly cold and urgent. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? I don’t care who he is, I swear I’ll fucking kill him if-”

“No Becca, _shhh_.” The couple at the closest table were craning their necks to peek around the fabric between them. Bucky made a shushing motion with his hands. “No, he didn’t hurt me. I…” Bucky wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it.

“Then what happened?” She’d relaxed, but only slightly, and she still seemed intent on grilling him. “Did you break up? I didn’t even know if you guys were officially dating in the first place!” She lowered the last few words into a whisper-shout as Bucky made another move for her to quiet down before they attracted undue attention.

“It was me, okay?” he admitted, hating that she didn’t even look surprised at his confession. “Things were going good. Really good. He made me this great breakfast this morning and it was _working_ and then… I don’t know!” He hung his head in embarrassment, the burning in his eyes making a roaring comeback. “We were kissing and I just... freaked out. And ran. I _literally_ ran away from him, Becca. Who fucking does that? He probably hates me now.”

There was a longer silence than he expected. He waited a beat, and then two, expecting her to say _something_ at least. Finally, he hesitantly raised his head and looked at her. Becca was fixing him with the most unimpressed glare he’d ever seen in his life, and that included _his own_.

“You got me all freaked out for that,” she said flatly when she finally deigned to speak again. “Bucky, I thought something happened to you!”

“Something _did_ happen,” he said in a voice that was dangerously close to veering into the category of a whine. “I wrecked what might have been the best relationship of my life.”

“Okay one,” she held out a finger to him, counting off, “you are 25, so let’s calm it down with the teenage melodramatics. And two, next time can you freakin’ lead with that?!” She sighed in frustration at him. “Seriously, Bucky. I am your sister, and I’m here for you, but sometimes I wanna punch you in the fuckin’ face.”

Bucky let his head fall forward until his forehead thunked heavily on the table. “Am I not suffering enough?”

She groaned and put a hand on top of head, yanking him back up to a sitting position by his hair. She ignored his yelp of protest as she leaned out of her seat to flag down a passing cocktail waitress.

“Here’s the plan,” she told him. “First, you are going to stop acting like a character in a weekday soap opera. Second, we are going to drink this out.” She turned and flashed a smile at the approaching waitress. “Four shots of bourbon, a margarita straight up, and a long island iced tea. Strong, please.”

“Becca,” Bucky hissed under his breath. “I haven’t drank one of those since college.”

“Yeah,” Becca said, turning back to him as the waitress left to go get their drinks. “You’ve also been a lot less fun since college. Coincidence?”

They were in a nice place so he couldn’t say what he wanted. Instead, he settled for pushing his heel into her shin, _hard_. It only made her smile broader.

The waitress was back in minutes, sliding everything onto the table and disappearing with barely a sound. Becca took the bourbon glass and slid two towards him, keeping two for herself. In perfect synchrony that only twins could manage, they downed one each. This one didn’t burn quite the same as the first, and left him feeling warm all over.

“By the way, you’re paying,” Becca said, putting her glass down with a wince. She had never been quite the fan of straight liquor that he was. “I braved Manhattan on a Saturday for you and your boy problems. The least you can do is get me drunk for free.”

Bucky couldn’t fault her for that logic. He knocked back his second shot, and this time he could feel it, creeping through his veins like a slow, sluggish fire that was burnt down to embers. His blood was like warm honey, thick and viscous. He’d had a proper buzz going before he’d even arrived, and now he was swiftly edging his way towards drunk. He seemed to be that way a lot lately. Bucky hoped he wasn’t developing a problem, but that seemed like a worry for another time.

“Okay,” Becca said, toying with her remaining glass of bourbon instead of drinking it. “So what _actually_ happened between you two that was so bad that you couldn’t take a shower?”

“I showered!” Bucky said defensively.

“We’re twins,” Becca reminded him. “I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Why would you avoid my question?” She pushed the overfull glass of long island iced tea at him and he took a sip.

“Ugh,” he said. “Fine. So, we had a… disagreement last night.”

“About what?” she probed.

“The circumstances don’t matter.”

“I mean, they kinda do, if that’s how you’re starting the story,” she pointed out. “What were you fighting about?” He glared at her and she rolled her eyes. “Right. Got it. Go on.”

He took another sip of his drink, relishing the sweet liquid on his tongue. “So this morning I went over to his place for breakfast and we had a talk. Made up and everything. And it was nice. It was _good_. And then we started to kiss, and it seemed like it was going somewhere and I just didn’t…” He sighed and put a hand to his eyes, rubbing hard. “I didn’t want to, but of course I couldn’t fucking _tell_ him that because I’m a fucking idiot who lies and makes everything _worse_. And then to top it all off, I freaked out and bolted like a scared cat.”

“You freaked out,” she repeated flatly.

“I don’t know!” He dropped the hand from his eyes. “I was tired and s-” He stopped himself at the last second before the word _‘sore’_ could leave his mouth. She was here for him, but that didn’t mean she wanted to hear certain things about a lifestyle she already didn’t approve of. “I just. Wasn’t into it. But I tried to go along anyway, because that’s what I _do_, and then he said... It doesn’t actually matter what he said, he didn’t mean it anyway, but for a second I looked at him and it wasn’t _Steve_ I was looking at.”

Across from him, Becca was quiet, her lips pressed together into a thin line as she watched him intently. She seemed to sense the desperate shift in his tone, waiting silently for him to continue.

“He was a client,” Bucky said, even though the words hurt like they’d been ripped out of his throat by force. He lowered his voice as he spoke. “He was a _client_ and it didn’t matter that I like him a lot, or that he’s the best guy I think I’ve even _met_, let alone dated. He was just… the same as the rest of them. And that’s... is that what I’m offering him, Becca? Is that all I can give him? A relationship with someone who doesn’t even really _see_ him.” He sat back, arms crossed over his chest, feeling bitter and angry.

He could see the internal conflict on her face, and it made him love her all the more for listening to him. He knew she hated what he did, and yet here she was, supporting him without so much as an _‘I told you so’_. God, he didn’t deserve her, and she certainly didn’t deserve to deal with his shit.

“So,” she said slowly, like she was trying to piece together her words. “Just so I understand. He had sex with you when you didn’t want to?”

“No!” He sat up straight, horrified at the thought. “_Nothing_ like that. He would never. And besides, we didn’t have sex. We didn’t even get past kissing. I think there was just something… off this morning. With me. I wasn’t feeling it, and I kept going anyway, and I think that all combined and just… became something else entirely.”

“Right,” she said. She had a thoughtfully intense look on her face. Bucky took a long drink from his glass in the ensuing silence, and then considered flagging down the waitress for another shot.

“So you were worried that you were thinking of him as a client?”

“Sort of.” He ran an unsteady finger around the rim of his glass, catching drops of liquid as he went. His brain was starting to get that fuzzy feeling, like there was a thick blanket between him and the rest of the world. “It’s hard to explain. I’ve always kept my professional life far away from my personal life. But with Steve it’s creeping in and I have no idea why. Not that it matters now anyway. He’s probably just waiting until I crawl back home to dump my stupid ass.”

“Bucky.” She put out her hand and looked expectantly at him until he offered up his own hand in return. She gripped it tight and looked him dead in the eye. “Younger brother. Light of my life. _All_ that mushy junk. I love you, I really do. But did you ever stop to consider, oh I don’t know, _talking to him about how you feel?_”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”

“You know, talking.” She dropped his hand to gesture wildly. “It’s that thing that two adults who are in an adult relationship _do_.”

“I don’t exactly have a reference for that, Becca,” he said snippily. “Talking to people I like has not historically been my friend.”

“Well neither have healthy, stable relationships,” she shot back. “Which, for the record, I’m not saying that Steve is. I don’t know him. But… you seem happy.” She shrugged. “Present moment excluded of course.”

His tongue was too big for his mouth and his limbs felt loose and floppy, like they weren’t screwed on quite right. He picked up his glass to take another drink and was surprised to find that it was empty.

“Bucky. What I’m saying is _talk to him_.” Becca rolled her eyes as he stole her half-finished margarita. “My God, why so many people like you I will never know.”

He leaned forward and crooked his finger at her like he was about to tell her a secret. “It’s because I’ve got a great ass,” he said in a whisper that turned out to not be a whisper at all, if the look he got from a passing busboy was anything to go by.

She put a single finger to his forehead and pushed him back to his side of the table. He landed heavily on said ass and winced at the ache. He’d almost forgotten about it.

“Talk. To. Him,” Becca ordered him. “Get out your phone right now and text your boyfriend, idiot.” Something buzzed in her purse and she pulled out her phone. “Perfect timing. I’ve got to take this. Now _do what I said_.”

He flipped her the finger as she edged out of the booth and walked off, phone already raised to her ear to take the call. Reluctantly, Bucky pulled out his own phone and tried very, very hard to concentrate on the screen. It was difficult. The screen kept trying to move and his fingers felt too fat for the buttons. If he’d been buzzed earlier, now he was well and truly drunk. Somehow, despite his fumbling, he managed to pull up his chain of text messages with Steve. Bucky typed in the word _‘I’m’_, erased it, then typed it again.

“James?”

He _knew_ that voice. Bucky looked up from his phone. He had to squint to get his eyes to focus on the person standing next to the table.

“Alexander.” Bucky smiled on instinct honed from years of perfecting his craft. It didn’t matter what state of mind he was in - exhausted, tired, stressed. He could always charm his clients.

“So it is you!” Pierce looked pleasantly surprised to see him. “I thought I recognized you.”

Bucky wasn’t as thrilled about the encounter. Whenever he was going about his day and saw clients in public, it always felt a bit like seeing your teacher at the store. And while this certainly wasn’t the first time he’d seen a client in public, it was the first time he’d seen one after drinking enough to kill a small horse. Bucky worked hard to maintain a certain image with his clients, and drunk and stumbling wasn’t it.

“Out for drinks?” he asked Pierce with a forced smile, trying hard to hide the slurring in his words. He suddenly wished he’d taken a little more care with his appearance before leaving his apartment as well.His reputation would be in tatters by the time the day was over.

If Pierce was put off by Bucky’s....everything really at the moment, than he did a good job of not showing it. “Business meeting. Just finished up.”

That explained the sharp charcoal-gray suit that Pierce was currently sporting. He wore it with ease, hands tucked into his pockets and jacket open over the dark blue dress shirt. The shirt did wonders for his eyes, making his icy blues stand out strong against his tanned skin. He looked _good_, and that only made Bucky feel even more like something that had crawled up out of a swamp.

“Working on a weekend?” Bucky asked with a smile.

Pierce nodded at Becca’s empty seat where the remnants of her drink still sat. “You’re one to talk.”

“Hmm?” It took Bucky’s scrambled brain longer than he’d like to put the words into some semblance of order. “Ohhh,” he finally realized. “No, not tonight. This is more of a personal thing.”

Pierce had his hands slung casually in his pockets as he stepped closer to the table. He towered over Bucky, his body blocking most of the lighting from the bar and casting his face into shadow. When he spoke again, he was just a dark silhouette.

“I see,” Pierce said. There was humor in his voice. “You’re not stepping out on me, are you James?”

Bucky let out a laugh that he hoped didn’t sound too forced, and Pierce smiled broadly at him.

“Well,” Pierce prompted. “Are you here with your boyfriend?” Bucky’s tongue was frozen to the roof of his mouth. He hated having to ward clients away from questions about his personal life on the best of days, and having to do it while impaired was giving him stomach pains. Pierce continued to probe when Bucky was silent. “Perhaps a girlfriend, then?”

“Sister,” Bucky said quickly, offering no further details.

Pierce was not deterred. “Oh!” he said, like that was the most delightful thing he’d heard all day. Pierce looked around, searching the nearby faces. “I’d love to meet her. If she’s anything like you, I’m sure she’s quite beautiful.”

Discomfort chewed at Bucky’s insides and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That’s alright,” he said, trying his best to look abashed at refusing Pierce’s request. “I’m sure you’ve got important places to be. No need to get held up on our account.”

“I can always free up time in my schedule for you James.” Pierce winked and Bucky stifled a groan. “In fact, why don’t the two of you come out with me, friend to friend. My treat. We can grab an early supper.”

“That’s really generous, but…” Bucky hesitated. Phrasing was everything right now. “I just… don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“Ah, I understand,” Pierce said sadly. “Two young people, out on a Saturday night. I’m sure it’s the last thing you want. To be seen with an old man like me.”

He hung his head, looking so miserable and downtrodden that Bucky felt an immediate stab of guilt go through him like lightning. Horrified, he watched as Pierce sighed, his mouth twisted into a frown. _Fuck_. What the hell was wrong with Bucky? Pierce was trying to be friendly, that much was obvious, and Bucky had overreacted so badly that he might have just irrevocably damaged a relationship with one of his best clients. He wanted to slither underneath the table and curl up down there in the dark and never come out. It would certainly be better than letting himself roam free and possibly fuck up more things. Because that’s all he’d managed to do today. First Steve and now Pierce.

“No! No, not at all!” Bucky waved his hands desperately, wanting nothing more than for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. “I swear it’s got nothing to do with you. I just don’t like mixing business with pleasure.”

Pierce nodded, his lips a thin line. “I understand,” he said flatly. He turned on his heel. “Good evening, James. I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime soon.”

Fuck. _Fuck_. Bucky was officially the biggest waste of air on the planet. He should just go ahead and lock himself in his room and never come back out for all the good he was doing people.

“It’s-” he started and Pierce immediately turned around. “It’s fine,” Bucky finished. “Why don’t you stay and have a drink with us?”

Pierce beamed at him, and at the same time Becca appeared beside him. “Bucky,” Becca said. She was half looking at Bucky, and half side-eyeing Pierce. When he didn’t move she shifted a little, putting Pierce mostly to her back and talking directly to Bucky. “I’m really, really sorry, but apparently a pipe in my building broke and my entire floor is flooded. I need to go home and deal with the repair-men before they accidentally make things worse.” She looked weary at the thought.

“Do you need any help?” Bucky asked, concerned.

She smiled at him, her mouth twitching up at the corners in an expression strikingly similar to his own. “No thanks. I can knock a few heads on my own. Are you sure it’s okay that I’m cutting tonight short?”

He nodded earnestly and felt a little sick as his equilibrium shifted. “It’s perfectly fine Becs, I promise. Thanks for coming out and talking to me. I needed it.”

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes like he’d said something stupid. “That’s what sisters are for.” She stepped closer, inserting herself solidly between Pierce and the table. Pierce still hadn’t said anything. He was standing still, watching the two of them interact with interest. “Are you going to be okay to get home on your own?” she asked.

Bucky evaluated his own current level of intoxication. He was definitely drunk. The room shifted every time he moved his eyes and his brain felt like it was covered in a layer of thick wool. His lips were numb, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could be trusted not to trip and end up face-down on the floor. But on the upside, he was awake and conscious. So he had that going for him.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll call a car instead of taking the subway.”

“Don’t worry Miss.” Behind her, Pierce finally spoke up. He stepped around her and into the conversation. “I’ll make sure your brother gets home safe and sound.” He winked at her, but Becca seemed entirely unimpressed.

She looked sharply at Pierce. “Who are you?” Bucky sometimes forgot how blunt she could be, as used to it as he was.

Pierce was unphased. “Senator Alexander Pierce,” he said, offering his hand up between them. At the word Senator, Bucky saw Becca visibly relax, the tension seeping from her quickly. “And you are?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Bucky’s so-far missing sense of propriety spurred him into action. He pushed himself up, intending to stand and then immediately thought better of it. “Alexander, this is my sister Becca. Becca, this is Senator Pierce.”

“Just Alexander, please,” Pierce said, smiling broadly as reached out her hand. Instead of shaking it, he swept it up in his grip and kissed the back of her hand lightly before releasing her.

She laughed and smiled at him, even though she still looked confused at his presence. Bucky didn’t blame her. “It’s nice to meet you, Senator,” she said politely. “How do you know my brother?”

Bucky winced before the words were even out of Pierce’s mouth. “James has done some fantastic design work for one of my companies,” Pierce said smoothly, the lie sliding off his tongue like honey.

For a moment everything was still and quiet, a moment captured in time and crystallized. But then it was over and Bucky saw it the second it happened. Becca looked at Pierce, looked at Bucky, and the smile slid off her face. “Oh,” she said. _“Oh.”_ She turned, effectively cutting Pierce out of the conversation. Her tone was icy. “Are you sure you don’t want me to get you home?”

Bucky sighed. She looked tired and anxious and her phone had been going off steadily for the last few minutes, buzzing insistently in her hand. It wouldn’t be fair of him to ask her for more, especially now. She’d already done so much for him today.

“I’m okay, Becs. I swear. Go.”

She looked at him, her face a mix of grateful and worried, before leaning down and enfolding him in a tight hug. He squeezed her back, relishing the momentary respite from what had been an extremely difficult day.

“Do you trust this guy?” Her voice was a whisper in his ear, so quiet he had to strain to make out the words.

Bucky paused. Did he trust Pierce? It was hard to say. Even if he wanted to he wasn’t sure he could properly explain the relationship between himself and his regular clients to her. Not in a way that she would understand. But it was also hard to say that Bucky didn’t trust him. Pierce could be overbearing and uncomfortably pushy, but he had always treated Bucky well. Finally, he nodded, just the slightest incline of his head. She squeezed him one last time and then stood back.

“Text me the second you get home.”

He rolled his eyes at her but smiled all the same. “Okay _Mom_. Good luck with the apartment thing.”

She quickly shrugged into her coat and tossed her purse strap over her shoulder. “Bye Bucky,” she said. “Senator.” She walked by Pierce, her gait stiff and standoffish.

With her gone, Bucky figured it was about time for him to hit the road as well. The alcohol that had done such an excellent job of blunting his anxiety about Steve was now doing its best to drag his eyelids down and drop him right there in his seat. He practically moaned thinking about his room back home with its inviting bed and black-out curtains on the windows. The first thing on his agenda was to crash for at least six hours. After that he could think about what he was going to say to Steve.

Decision made, Bucky pulled out his wallet and started to dig through it for cash to pay the tab. He looked up in surprise when suddenly there was a body next to his. Pierce had settled into the seat, his side pressed close to Bucky’s. The smell of his cologne flooded Bucky’s nose and his head pounded in protest.

“So that’s your sister?” Pierce asked conversationally.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky replied, his hands still frozen on his wallet. He watched as Pierce signaled a waiter by holding up Bucky’s empty glass. The waiter hurried off in the direction of the bar. “I was actually thinking of leaving,” Bucky started up weakly.

“You two look so similar,” Pierce said, acting like Bucky hadn’t even spoken. “Are you close in age?”

“Twins,” Bucky replied automatically. “I really-”

“Fascinating,” Pierce said. His body was turned so that he could look at Bucky. Their legs were pressed together from hip to knee, and one of Pierce’s arms was resting casually over the back of the seat just behind Bucky’s neck. “Not to be rude,” Pierce said, lowering his head to speak softly into Bucky’s ear. His breath was hot against Bucky’s neck. Goosebumps prickled across Bucky’s skin. “But I do think you got a bit more of the personality between the two of you.”

There was a drink on the table in front of Bucky. He’d never even seen the waiter put it down. An old-fashioned, he guessed. He’d seen them before but had never tried one. Pierce was staring intently at him. Bucky hesitantly picked up the glass and took a drink. The whiskey went down easy.

“Does she know what you do for a living?”

Pierce might as well have been talking about the weather for all his tone implied. Liquid sloshed over Bucky’s hand as he put down the drink with more force than he’d intended. He tried to grab for a napkin, but it was like his hands were wired wrong. He couldn’t get them to do what he wanted.

“I’d rather not...”

“Oh, go on,” Pierce insisted. “It’s just you and me. No one can hear us back here so there’s no need to put up any kind of front.” He sighed. “I’ll tell you what. If it’ll make you more comfortable, you can think of this as an appointment. I’ll even transfer some money into your account.”

“No, no,” Bucky mumbled. “That’s really not…” It was like his eyes couldn’t keep up with movement. His vision was coming in snapshots, uncoordinated and jerky. Bucky buried his head in his hands. “I don’t feel good.”

“Oh?” Pierce’s hand was under Bucky’s chin, forcing his head up so he could look Pierce in the eyes. “Would you like some water?”

Bucky had never put his wallet away and now he grabbed for it, pulling a handful of cash out at random. “I think I’m gonna go home,” he said. “It was nice to see you, Alexander. Sorry about the…” He waved a hand vaguely in the air.

“Nonsense.” Pierce’s hand engulfed Bucky’s. He pressed hard, forcing Bucky’s hands down and to the table, his wallet forgotten. Then Pierce reached for his own wallet, placing a few large bills on the tabletop. “My driver will take you home. You never know what kind of people you’ll meet at night on the street. And besides, it’s freezing out there.” Pierce grabbed for Bucky’s hand again, caught it up in his own and held it there. “Please,” he said, even though it didn’t sound anything like a question. “I’m offering this as your friend, just this once. Let me get you out of here.”

Bucky’s head was swimming and the room was both too hot and too cold all at once. The more he thought about it the more insurmountable his tasks seemed, because to get home he’d have to call a car and that meant he’d have to remember how to dial his phone. That seemed like an embarrassingly difficult prospect right now. And to be honest, Bucky couldn’t recall right now why he was so hesitant to accept a ride from Pierce in the first place. It was a good idea. Perhaps Pierce would let him sleep in the car.

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, remembering not to nod at the last second.

Pierce’s smile was bright, showing rows of straight, shiny white teeth. “Good choice.” He patted Bucky’s hands like he was congratulating him on a job well done. “Now, let’s get you to the car.”

Bucky picked up the drink Pierce had ordered him and drained it before getting to his feet. The alcohol didn’t burn going down at all now. He stumbled when he tried to take a step forward, and Pierce put a broad, steadying hand at the small of his back to guide him through the lounge and out a side door that Bucky hadn’t known was there.

The car, a discreet black SUV with dark-tinted windows, was waiting outside at the curb as Pierce had promised. The seats inside were smooth, dark leather accented in white. Like a limousine, it had a black glass window between the driver’s seat and the back. A man in black slacks and a dress shirt, his hair buzzed close to his scalp, held the door open for the two of them. Bucky mumbled his address to Pierce, who relayed it to the driver as Bucky took a seat. Pierce slid in next to him. Though there was ample room, Pierce didn’t leave so much as a gap between them.

“There,” Pierce told him. “The seat warmers are on. Should keep you from getting too cold.”

Bucky tried to help with his seat belt, but Pierce pushed his hands away and fastened it for him. The less he had to worry about the better though. Besides, Pierce was right. The seats were deliciously warm, like slipping into a hot bath. Bucky let his eyes close and did his best to ignore the spinning, falling feeling as the temperature and gentle rocking of the car did their best to lull him to sleep.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, in the twilight space between waking and sleeping. He could feel Steve touching him and he liked that. Steve’s hand was on his knee, a heavy, comforting weight. Fingers traced through Bucky’s hair, nails scratching along his scalp. A noise of contentment escaped Bucky’s throat as he turned his head, nuzzling into the touch. Steve’s hands were everywhere after that; on his face, stroking his cheek, pushing into his shirt; his fingers tracing lines across Bucky’s collarbone, creeping up his thigh, higher and higher.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

Bucky’s eyes flew open and he jerked forwards until the seat belt caught him and held him tight. The car spun around him in a whirling crescendo of images.

“Shhh,” Pierce said, reaching for him. “It’s alright, Bucky.”

His name coming from those lips wasn’t right. He was with Pierce. It should be James. Why wasn’t it right? He couldn’t think about it though because Pierce was kissing him. His weight was a concrete block pushing the breath from Bucky’s lungs. He could feel Pierce’s tongue between his lips. Bucky was frozen. He felt like he was watching himself and he wanted to scream and then-

_“Stop!”_

Bucky got his arms between them and pushed as hard as he could. Pierce looked confused, and Bucky took the opportunity to kick at his legs, trying to disentangle himself. Bucky turned and pounded on the glass between them and the driver with a closed fist. “Stop the goddamn car!” He stopped and fumbled with his seat belt, his hands shaking and clumsy. He’d get out and walk. It wasn’t that far and he’d rather freeze to death than spend another second in this car.

“Bucky,” Pierce’s voice was admonishing, like he was talking to a small child who’d gotten into trouble. “There’s no need to yell. I was just-”

“_Don’t_ call me that,” Bucky snarled at him. He was still working at the seat belt clasp, his fingers slow and reluctant. “I didn’t give you permission to use that name, and I didn’t give you permission to _fucking kiss me!_” There was a click and the seat belt came loose. He was free.

“James.” Pierce’s voice was ice. “Think about what you’re doing here. Don’t throw away a good thing.”

“Unlock the fucking door.”

“Do you know what I could give you if you just let me-”

“All I want from you is for you to leave me alone,” Bucky was practically spitting. “You’ve done a lot for me, but don’t think that means I owe you a damn thing. You’ve gotten too comfortable, and that’s on me. I saw the signs but I let you go anyway because you were a good client.” He met Pierce’s eyes, dark and angry. “As of now, I’m terminating this relationship. You aren’t my client anymore. Please don’t contact me again.”

Pierce looked livid. “How-”

While Bucky had been speaking the driver had finally pulled the car to a stop and unlocked the doors. Bucky didn’t hear another word Pierce said as he scrambled out of the car and onto the sidewalk. He slammed the door shut, Pierce’s face, red and angry, the last thing he saw. Bucky didn’t waste time walking away. He almost considered running, but there was no sound of a car door opening behind him, no feet on the sidewalk at his back. He still walked quickly though, and his heartbeat pounded in his throat even after he heard the car start up again and fade as it drove away. The cold air whipped around him, the wind picking up. He didn’t mind. The chill helped to sober him even more than the sudden confrontation had.

He ended up calling a car and waiting for it on the corner of a busy intersection, comforted by the press of people around him. Once inside, he fumed at himself as he stared out the window. His anger didn’t dissipate as he reached his apartment building or as he let himself into the lobby. He took the elevator because he didn’t trust his legs on the stairs, even though he felt the most sober he had all night. Bucky was alive with anger, both at Pierce and at himself. Pierce had broken the rules. But Bucky had let him. He knew all the signs of a client becoming too attached. He’d seen them in Pierce for ages, but he’d ignored them for a good payday. What a fucking idiot he’d been.

It was just after 8pm and the fourth floor was quiet. Bucky stopped outside Steve’s door and listened, but nothing stirred in the apartment. He hammered on the door anyway with both fists, making what was probably an obnoxious amount of noise. Suddenly, the solid wood disappeared from under his hands and Steve’s surprised face stared back at him.

“Bucky?”

He pushed roughly past Steve and stalked into the apartment. Once he was inside he spun around to face a very surprised Steve.

“I’m scared that if this goes any further I’m not going to know how to fit you into my life.”

Steve kicked the door shut. Bucky had caught him relaxing on the couch by the looks of it. Steve was dressed in a comfortable looking pair of sweatpants, and a heavily-creased paperback was folded over the arm of the couch. Steve approached Bucky slowly, cautiously, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. His brow was furrowed, his lips open on a question.

“Are you okay, Bucky?” He got a little bit closer. “Are you drunk?”

“Very,” Bucky told him. “And I’m very dizzy and in a very weird mood, so I’m going to need you to stay right there while I tell you what I came here to tell you.”

“Alright.” Steve stopped coming towards him. His expression was concerned, but he stayed still and waited for Bucky to speak.

Bucky took a deep breath. The alcohol and adrenaline loosened his tongue and the words spilled out of him like water from behind a dam. He hadn’t had time to think about what he wanted to say, but he said it anyway. “The last relationship I was in was three years ago. I liked him. A lot. Maybe loved him, I don’t know. But I didn’t tell him that I was an escort because I thought it didn’t matter. I thought I could keep my job and my life separate. I thought it would be easy. When he found out, he lost it. Called me all sorts of nasty things. Told me how disgusting I was, how ashamed he was to be with someone like me. He told me I would never find anyone willing to love me if they knew who I really was.”

Steve’s face was soft, pleading. “Bucky-”

Bucky held out a finger and Steve’s mouth snapped shut.

“I was better off without him,” Bucky said. He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “But he made me realize that I wasn’t capable of keeping those parts of my life separate. And if I couldn’t do that, then I needed to just not date. So I didn’t, and it was fine. And then I met you, and you were nice and understanding and so…” Bucky cleared his throat and blinked hard. “So I thought what the hell, and I broke my rules for _you_. And then the thing at party happened. And this morning. You told me that I didn’t have to dress up for you and... So many people have said that to me. People who thought they wanted me when really all they wanted was sex or love or this _idea_ of me that doesn’t even really exist. They didn’t know me. But you do. Or at least, I want you to.” Bucky knew he was rambling, but the words felt so good coming out that he couldn’t stop himself. “You said what they said and I didn’t know what to do because I keep trying to keep you out of that part of my life, but you’re everywhere, or maybe it’s everywhere. I don’t know, but I’m scared that if you see too much of it you’re going to change your mind. And I’m scared that if I think of you in those terms you’re going to stop being my boyfriend and start being my client. And I’m… I’m _scared_, Steve.”

Steve swallowed heavily, taking it all in. When he spoke, his voice was raspy with emotion. “Is that why you ran off this morning?”

Bucky nodded, chewing on his bottom lip so hard he tasted blood. Steve lapsed back into silence. His face was stony, his eyes hard. Oh god. He was going to break up with Bucky. Bucky had done it, he’d pushed too hard, too much, and this was how it all ended.

“I’m scared too.”

Bucky’s head jerked up in surprise.

“Terrified, actually,” Steve said, with a huff of amusement. “You terrify me Bucky. I’ve been on… maybe three dates since I woke up from the ice. They were unmitigated disasters. I could have sex with people, but finding a true, genuine connection was… I felt horrible all the time. Like I’d left my only chances at love back in the 40s. And then you came along and you are the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

Bucky’s eyes burned and he wanted to duck his head, but Steve’s gaze held him steady, pinned like a butterfly on a collection board.

“You know who you are,” Steve said. “You know what you want, and somehow, by some fucking miracle, you want _me_. I’m terrified that you’re going to wake up tomorrow and see how hopeless I am at this and how much better you could have than me.”

The silence between then grated at Bucky’s nerves. It grew, pushing against him, pulling at him until-

“So we’re both scared idiots.”

Steve laughed and the sound was just a touch bitter. “That seems to be the case. But-” His eyes were earnest, his expression open. “-I’d rather be scared with you than without you. If that’s still what you want too.”

Bucky nodded wordlessly. His mouth was drier than a desert, his tongue so tied he didn’t think he’d ever be able to talk again. 

“Is it okay if I...?” Steve mimed stepping forward and Bucky nodded again. He’d been so full of words he hadn’t been able to keep them inside, and now he was completely blank. But Steve didn’t seem to care if Bucky couldn’t speak. He stepped up slowly, meeting Bucky where he was, and then gingerly embraced him. For a moment, Bucky could feel Steve holding himself stiff, making sure that Bucky wasn’t going to push him away.

Well that wasn’t going to happen. 

Bucky buried himself in the hug and in Steve, bringing his arms up to squeeze Steve tightly and tucking his head against Steve’s chest. He could feel Steve relax then, folding himself into the hug, clutching at Bucky like if he let go Bucky might disappear. He could hear Steve’s steady heartbeat, feel it beneath his cheek. He never wanted to let go. Steve smelled good, felt good, like cool water on a hot day, getting good news, or seeing a loved one who’d been away for a long time. Steve felt like home. 

“I’m sorry for upsetting you this morning,” Steve murmured, his lips moving softly against Bucky’s head. “I would never have said it if I’d known.”

“It’s not your fault.” Bucky’s voice came out more strangled than he’d anticipated, rough and hoarse. The last day and a half had wreaked havoc on him, and he wanted more than anything to be done. “I didn’t tell you and you couldn’t have known. I’m sorry for running out on you instead of just talking to you about it.”

Steve’s arms around him grew impossibly tighter. “It’s okay.” 

“You know this isn’t the last time this is going to be hard,” Bucky told him. 

“I know.” Steve sounded sad. “It’s going to be hard for both of us. You don’t know what it’s like yet, being with an Avenger.”

Bucky’s throat hurt. “What if it’s too hard? For either of us.”

There was a pause before Steve answered. The silence between them was palpable and deep and full of uncertainty. “It won’t be,” Steve finally said. “I have faith. Most things worth having don’t come easy. There are gonna be days that will be hard for you, and there will be days that will be hard for me. But we’ll get through them.”

Bucky coughed and cleared his throat, trying to hide the fact that he wanted to cry. It must have been the drinks making him emotional. At least that’s how he was going to tell it, if anyone asked. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was hesitant. 

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t be mad when I tell you this, but…” Bucky’s heart dropped down to the pit of his stomach. “…you smell like the bottom of a whiskey barrel.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky burst into wet, hiccupping laughter. Steve let go of him in surprise and stared for a moment before a smile started to creep across his handsome face. And then Steve was laughing too, great booming noises from deep in his chest. Tears streamed down Bucky’s cheeks as he tried to get ahold of himself, only to make eye contact with Steve and start laughing anew. 

Finally, wiping his eyes, he asked, “Can you at least lie to me and tell me how sexy it is?”

Steve chuckled, his eyes sparkling with something vibrant and alive. Bucky wanted to see more of it. “Of course,” Steve assured him. 

Bucky laughed and swiped at his eyes again. “I could use a shower,” he admitted. 

“I think we can definitely take care of that,” Steve said softly. He started to move, but then seemed to think better of it, freezing until Bucky nodded his assent. Permission granted, Steve wrapped one massive arm around Bucky’s shoulders and used the other to scoop him up, arm propped under his thighs for stability. Steve’s touch on him throughout the process was light and so incredibly gentle, that Bucky nearly wanted to cry. 

“Wait,” Bucky told him as Steve took a step towards the bathroom. Steve stilled and Bucky looked at him. Their faces were only inches apart. Steve’s eyes were blue and beautiful, and Bucky wondered what it might feel like to get lost in them forever. He didn’t think he’d mind it at all. “I want to be completely honest,” Bucky told him quietly. “This morning… I was hurting. From my appointment.” A barely suppressed shiver coursed through him as he thought about Pierce. 

Steve’s arms stiffened as an alarmed expression painted his features. 

“No, no,” Bucky reassured him. He really needed to work on his delivery. “Not like that. Just, normal. But it’s… there are going to be days when it’s like that. When I can’t have sex, and I… I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want you.”

Steve nodded, staying silent until Bucky was through. “Last month,” he finally said, his voice serious. “I got shot in the thigh. Close range. It was… Bad. I heal fast, but I couldn’t move without pain for weeks. I certainly couldn’t have sex.” He tipped his head at Bucky, his eyes intent on Bucky’s face. “If that happens again, would you think it was because I didn’t want you?” Bucky shook his head emphatically, no. “Hazard of the job then,” Steve said. 

Bucky kissed him, and Steve responded eagerly, closing his eyes as he kissed Bucky back. Steve was beautiful like that; his hair shone gold in the lamplight, his skin was tan and smooth, his lashes lay thick against his cheeks as spots of color appeared high on his cheekbones. Steve held Bucky like he was weightless, like it was the easiest thing in the world. He felt safe with Steve’s arms around him, his smell surrounding him. 

Bucky let his own eyes drift closed and lost himself to the feeling of Steve’s lips moving against his. Steve’s lips were soft, and they opened with a little noise of happiness when Bucky searched them out with his tongue. Steve tasted like peppermint. Bucky wrapped his tongue around Steve’s and explored every inch of Steve’s mouth, while Steve rumbled encouragement from deep in his throat. Every noise he made went straight to Bucky’s cock, which began to harden against his thigh. 

They broke apart and Steve went for Bucky’s neck, tracing the long lines of it with his tongue. His teeth scraped at Bucky’s earlobe and over his pulse point. Bucky held on to Steve tightly. A sound, almost like a whimper, was pulled from his throat as Steve sucked at a spot just below his hairline, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to have Bucky squirming in his arms. 

“Steve,” Bucky said pleadingly. His breath was coming fast, heart pounding in his chest as his cock swelled between his legs. 

Steve pulled back. The spot where his tongue had been felt cold and bereft. “I thought you said you couldn’t.”

_Forget what I said_, he wanted to scream. But the rational part of him knew that that wouldn’t do either of them any good. Between his legs, his cock pulsed in time with his heartbeat, as if reminding him of how much he hated having to say no. As it turned out, he didn’t need to. 

Steve dropped his head and nosed at the soft skin of Bucky’s neck, still wet from Steve’s tongue. His breath came in short, hot bursts against Bucky’s skin. “I don’t need to fuck you to make sure you have some fun,” he told Bucky, his voice deep and velvety smooth in a way that sent a new wave of arousal through Bucky. 

Steve carried Bucky to the bathroom just off of his bedroom; the one with the large tiled shower. He pulled a large fluffy towel out of the adjacent closet and got the hot water going in the shower, letting it run until steam filled the room. He did all of it without ever letting go of Bucky, not so much as a grunt to even indicate that he was holding a fully grown adult man. Bucky wondered idly if getting off on being carried and manhandled counted as a kink. 

Unfortunately, Steve did eventually have to put him down. He set Bucky lightly on the countertop after clearing it of any items. The air in the room was hazy with heat and damp from the steam. Steve’s thin t-shirt stuck to him, clinging to the planes of his chest, with moisture gathering under the collar. The only sound in the room came from the quiet hum of running water. It was like being inside a dream, where a misty curtain shielded them from the outside world, at least for a little while. Here, it was only him and Steve. 

Bucky watched silently as Steve knelt in front of him. With something like reverence, Steve undressed him, starting with his shoes and socks, moving up to his jeans. Bucky assisted him by shifting this way and that, but let Steve do the bulk of the work. The entire time Steve looked at him in a way Bucky had never seen before, like Bucky was something precious and fragile. Bucky couldn’t have taken his eyes away from Steve if he tried. When Steve pulled Bucky’s shirt over his head, he stepped in close and kissed Bucky on the mouth, soft and chaste and sweet. 

When he was through, Bucky sat naked on the counter, the humid air in the bathroom warm on his skin. The steam made everything dreamy, like that place somewhere between asleep and awake. Bucky could have lived here with Steve forever. 

Steve undressed himself much more quickly than he’d undressed Bucky, and when he was done, he picked Bucky back up and carried him into the shower. The water that soaked them both was comfortably warm. It ran in rivulets and streams, spilling over Steve’s shoulder, running down his chest this way and that, and dripping off his thighs and the hard length of his cock. Gently, always gently, Steve lowered Bucky until he stood on his own two feet. They faced each other, pressed close together under the water. 

Silently, Steve reached for the soap and lathered it in his hands. Bucky let Steve move him this and that, moving his limbs when Steve motioned for him to do it as Steve washed him thoroughly. Steve’s hands lingered on his chest, his thighs, the small of his back, the curve of his ass. His fingers slid the soapy water, leaving trails of fire on Bucky’s skin in their wake. Bucky’s cock had grown soft while he waited on the counter, but now it was alert again, hanging hard and heavy between his legs. 

Steve soaped him up and rinsed him off, always, always, always avoiding the one spot Bucky wanted him to touch the most. When he knelt to wash Bucky’s legs and feet Bucky nearly whimpered as Steve softly brushed his cock in the process. Steve smiled to himself, soft and small. 

Finally, Steve was done. The last of the soap was swirling its way down the drain when Steve stood tall and wrapped Bucky in his arms. The press of his naked body against Bucky’s was everything Bucky had never known he’d wanted. They fit together; Bucky’s head in the crook of Steve’s neck, Steve’s hands settled around Bucky’s waist. Everything slotted into place like it had always meant to be that way. 

“Thank you,” Bucky said softly, speaking into the skin at the junction of Steve’s neck and shoulder. Water dripped from the ends of his hair onto Steve’s skin and ran down. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Steve replied. 

Bucky kissed him, open mouthed and wet as the spray came down around them. Steve’s kiss was everything that Pierce’s wasn’t, soft and yielding and full of care. Bucky’s blood rushed in his ears. His head swam with all the sensations around him, his fingers and toes tingling as his heart threatened to burst from his chest. He could feel Steve’s hand on his stomach, reaching down, hesitant. 

“Can I?” Steve asked. 

In reply, Bucky clutched at Steve’s back, his fingers digging into the muscle as he clung to him. Steve stroked him slowly, each tiny movement of his hand like a new revelation. There was a landslide inside Bucky’s belly, churning and shaking and roiling, and a hurricane whipped through his head. It was like the secrets between them had been a slowly leaking dam, and now that it had broken the water came rushing out, carrying them both away on its unstoppable tide. 

Bucky gasped and moaned as Steve stroked him, and Steve swallowed each noise down. His hand was slow on Bucky’s cock; it felt like it went on for hours or maybe even days. Bucky had no sense of time left. His body trembled beneath the onslaught of _SteveSteveSteve_ until finally he came with a tensing of his abdomen and a silent cry. Steve stroked him through it, whispering wordless encouragement into Bucky’s ear, until the water washed the last of the mess away down the drain. 

When it was over, Steve gathered up Bucky into a towel and guided him into the bedroom. He laid Bucky out against the crisp sheets and dried every inch of him, working the towel softly through Bucky’s wet hair. Once he was dry, Steve dried himself and lowered himself down into the bed beside Bucky, who immediately rolled into his arms and closed his eyes, drifting slowly, softly to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning contents:  
Pierce gets a drunk Bucky even drunker with the plan to use Bucky's diminished capacity to say no to get him to accept Pierce's advances. Pierce gets him alone in a car and touches him and attempts to kiss him before Bucky shuts it down.


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky jerked awake from a dead sleep. It took several seconds to identify what had woken him. Sometime after he’d fallen asleep, Steve must have gathered up Bucky’s clothing. His jeans and shirt were folded in a little pile on the dresser next to the bed, his shoes lined up on the floor below. Lying on top of the pile of clothes were Bucky’s phones, both work and personal. It was his work phone that was going off, chiming and buzzing insistently every few seconds, the screen lit up bright in the dark bedroom.

_“Wuzzat?_” Beside him, Steve sat up, propped up on one elbow as he peered blearily at Bucky.

“Just my phone,” Bucky murmured.

Bucky’s mouth tasted of stale booze and morning breath, and his throat felt like he’d rubbed it with sandpaper. He was sore all over, his joints aching and head pounding like he’d run a marathon. The effect of the shower long gone, he now felt awful and hungover, but somehow he’d also never been happier. Reluctantly, he tossed aside the blanket, the cold air of the room drawing his skin up to goosebumps in an instant. He regretted having to leave the little cocoon of warmth he’d made with Steve, but he took heart in knowing that he could go back to it just as soon as he was done. And besides, that was a dangerous way to think. If he started to let himself think along those lines, there was a very real possibility that Bucky would pull Steve down into the bed and never get up again.

Bucky sat up and scooted to sit at the edge of the bed, reaching for the phone just as it began buzzing again, this time with an accompanying ringtone. He didn’t know who could possibly be calling him at this hour. The red blinking numbers on the digital clock on Steve’s dresser told him it was nearly 2am in the morning. Bucky had never had hard rules about when clients could and could not contact him, but he’d never needed them before. Most people had the common decency to not call in the middle of the night.

He sighed heavily when he saw the screen. He recognized the number well. _Pierce_. Bucky felt his mouth twisting to the side and he swiped hard on the screen, ignoring the call.

“Is everything alright?” Steve hadn’t gone back to sleep. He must have recognized the sudden change in Bucky’s demeanor.

“It’s fine,” Bucky sighed, shaking himself. He couldn’t let Pierce get to him. He’d had to let clients go before and this was no different. Besides, now that the initial burst of adrenaline from being woken up from a deep sleep had faded, Bucky was bone-deep weary. All he wanted was to sleep for at least twelve hours before he had to deal with anything at all. “Remind me to tell you the story in the morning,” he told Steve.

Steve nodded. “Alright. Now come back to-”

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt_. Message after message came in. Curious, Bucky opened one and everything came to a screeching halt. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t _breathe_. Ice burst into being in his chest, freezing a path through his veins until his limbs were immobilized. The ice encased his chest, keeping his lungs from expanding as he stared down in horror.

“Oh my god,” he said numbly. His ears were filled with cotton. His vision narrowed down until the phone screen was the only thing he saw. His panic grew and multiplied, spilling out into his belly and crawling along his bones. “Oh my god,” he said again. “Fuck. Oh fuck, _Oh fuck!_”

“Bucky!” Steve was fully awake now, and from the tone in his voice, very alarmed. Bucky felt Steve move on the bed behind him “What is it? What’s going on?”

Bucky couldn’t speak, scared that if he opened his mouth again he might scream. _Bzzt_. Another message and another. They were all from Pierce, each one of them pictures - scanned documents and photos and records - and each one more horrifying than the last.

Bucky’s driver’s license. His high school portraits. Becca’s school ID. His parent’s marriage certificate. Bucky’s birth certificate.

They kept coming. Little pieces of Bucky’s life. His _real_ life, his parents, and his sister. Every record that a person might be able to find, and some that should have been impossible to get.

He could feel Steve behind him, peering over his shoulder. “Bucky, what the fuck is this?”

“It’s…” Bucky couldn’t speak, afraid that if he opened his mouth all he’d do is scream. “Pierce. It’s Pierce.”

“Bucky.” Steve was beside him. He’d taken the phone from Bucky’s loose grasp, staring intently at the screen as another message came in. Bucky couldn’t feel his fingers. Couldn’t remember if he was supposed to. “Why does he have this?” Steve asked him. “_How_ does he have this?”

“I... I don’t know,” Bucky said. The gears in his brain were rusted shut, the wheels stuck in their tracks. He forced himself to think. “He shouldn’t! There’s no-”

Bucky felt the floor drop out from under him and he sucked in a breath.

“What?” Steve questioned him.

“It’s my fault,” Bucky said faintly. “He saw Becca, heard her name. He heard her call me Bucky. I _told_ him my damn address.” He buried his face in his hands, fingers pulling at his hair. “Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. Of fucking course he figured it out. I gave him the fucking gun and then helped him load the ammo.”

“Becca?” Steve still looked desperately lost. “You mean your sister? When did he see her? When did you give him your address?”

“Last night,” Bucky moaned into his hands. “Becca and I were drinking, and he was at the bar and I was so drunk. He offered me a ride home and he... This is all my fault. How could I be so fucking _stupid?!_”

“Stop.” Steve had him by the shoulders, his grip dug deep into Bucky’s skin. “Stop,” he said again. “Look at me. Breathe. I need you to tell me what happened. _All of it_.”

So Bucky did, because that’s what they had promised each other. Honesty. Steve was deathly silent while Bucky spoke. He didn’t move, completely silent and still apart from the muscle that tightened and jumped as he clenched his jaw. And when Bucky got to the part with Pierce in the car, Steve’s hands tightened on his shoulders until Bucky thought they might bruise.

“I shouldn’t have said that to him,” Bucky said when he was done. “I practically dared him to do this.”

“_No_.” Steve’s voice was firm. “No, don’t you _ever_ think that. You did the right thing.” Steve’s eyes were burning a hole through him with their intensity. “You got out of there. You stood up for yourself and you got yourself out of a bad situation that was only going to get worse. This is no one’s fault but his.”

“Steve.” To his horror, Bucky’s voice was wet, his eyes burning as he choked out the words. “He’s gonna expose me. Or force me to... I don’t know, but my life is _over_.” And then something else awful occurred to him. “Fuck. Steve, I gotta get out of here. Once this gets out, if people knew you were with me, that we were together... If they even thought-”

“No!” The sudden booming volume nearly made Bucky jump. There was authority in Steve’s voice like he’d never heard before. “This is _not_ happening. Alexander Pierce is not taking you away from me. Get dressed.”

Steve let go of him and jumped out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with a solid _thud_.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked.

“I’ll tell you on the way."

==⍟==

Even at two in the morning, the streets of New York were full of cars and taxis, headlights reflecting off windshields and back into Steve’s eyes as he maneuvered his motorcycle, weaving in between lanes of traffic. The cold night air whipped by them as he sped through the traffic. At his back he felt Bucky shiver, and his fingers tightened where they clung to Steve’s waist.

The Tower was visible long before they got to it, towering over downtown Manhattan like a glass and metal sentry. Steve leaned into the curves of the road, whipping around corners and through the private security entrance to the underground garage. The doors opened when Steve’s bike roared up to them.

“Steve, what’re we doing here?” Bucky asked as Steve pulled to a stop and threw the bike into park.

“We’re getting help,” Steve said.

The private elevator took them directly from the garage up to the common floor, placed smack dab in the middle of the residential floors of the Tower. No one could get up here without either being an Avenger or being with an Avenger; the entire thing was tuned to their biosignatures and watched over by Jarvis. Steve was so focused on his task, his mission, that he almost forgot Bucky was even there until he caught sight of him in the mirrored wall of the elevator. Bucky looked small, standing there in his rumpled clothes that still smelled of stale booze, dark shadows like bruises under his eyes. Steve hated it. That wasn’t how Bucky should look. He should be calm and confident and in control.

Steve was going to _murder_ Alexander Pierce, police and politics be damned.

“Steve…” Bucky stopped, like he didn’t know how to finish the thought.

Suddenly, Steve doubted his entire plan. That had always been his problem, from rushing into playground fights as a child right up to charging aliens that fell through a portal in the sky. Steve was a battering ram, throwing himself headlong into danger without ever stopping to think about what it might look like on the other side. It was both a blessing and a curse. These bad habits of his had gotten him in trouble for most of his life, but they’d also gotten him Bucky. And Steve would be damned if he let a man like Alexander Pierce fuck that up.

The elevator _dinged_ as it arrived at the common floor, and Steve turned to Bucky. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask,” he said quickly. “But it was the only thing I could think of.”

“Ask what?” Bucky got out as the doors opened.

They were all there. Clint was slumped over with his head on the table and Bruce looked even more rumpled and put-upon than usual. The look on Natasha’s face was unusually upset as she stood by the table and Tony had his arms crossed expectantly, but still. _They were all there_. The ones on earth anyway. His team. His _friends_. And it wasn’t that Steve had ever doubted them, but you never really knew who people were until the cards were down.

The only sound in the room came from the elevator as the door slid shut and the car disappeared out of sight. The silence stretched on for one agonizing second, and then two, and then Steve started to wonder if maybe he’d been wrong…

“Well, I’ll say it if no one else is.” Tony was the first to speak up. “What’s going on here, Cap? Since when did Fury authorize you to call a level one threat. And I’m assuming this is a personal matter since New York doesn’t seem to be actively on fire right now.”

“He didn’t,” Steve admitted. “And this isn’t an Avengers thing, you’re right. _I_ need help. But…” He paused, unsure how to phrase it. He was suddenly very aware of Bucky’s presence at his side. “It isn’t exactly legal. I need this one to stay under the table. If anyone wants out, now would be the time.”

Tony stared at him for a second, and then said, “Oh. Well. Alright then. Is this something that’s gonna piss Papa Fury off?”

“Probably,” Steve said.

Tony dropped his defensive posture and grinned. “I’m in.”

“I’m awake now, so why not?” Clint said, his voice muffled where his face was still pressed into the tabletop. Steve hadn’t even been sure he was awake.

Bruce shrugged. “He already hates me.”

Natasha didn’t even have to say anything. Steve looked at her and knew that she was behind him. If he had had the time to cry right then and there he would have. How he’d gotten so lucky with the people in his life, he’d never know.

“Thank you,” Steve said, keeping his voice miraculously steady. There would be time later to extol the virtues of his team. Right now they needed to get down to business and they needed to do it fast. “I need everything you can get on Alexander Pierce.”

“The Senator?” asked Bruce.

Steve nodded and Bruce’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline in surprise.

“I’m guessing you don’t mean his astrological sign or his favorite color,” Tony said dryly.

“Anything you can find,” Steve said. “I don’t need the skeletons in his closet. I need the ones buried in the basement. I need _leverage_.”

Tony nodded along as he spoke. “Okay, that’s great,” he said when Steve had finished. “But before we start with all the law breaking, does the new student want to introduce himself to the class?”

Steve looked over at Bucky, feeling more than a little guilty. He’d been so focused on his task, on his plan to protect Bucky, that for the second time he’d nearly forgotten Bucky was even there. How was that for irony. But regardless, Bucky was there next to him, standing tall and confident. There was none of the fear he’d shown Steve in the bedroom or in the elevator. Not even standing in front of strangers with the threat of public exposure could break him down. Steve’s heart ached for Bucky even as he glowed with pride at Bucky’s strength.

Steve caught Bucky’s eyes and asked silently, _are you okay?_ Bucky’s hair was stuck up on one side, and he was rubbing his arms like he was trying to warm himself up even in the controlled, perfectly ambient air temperature of the Tower, but still he nodded yes. Steve would never get over how amazing he was.

“This is Bucky Barnes,” Steve said, turning to face the rest of them. “My boyfriend. Bucky, this is Tony, Bruce, Clint, and Nat.” Steve pointed to each of them in turn.

“Oh,” Tony said conversationally. “So it’s the mysterious boyfriend we’ve heard absolutely nothing about.”

“Speak for yourself, Tony,” Natasha said.

“Wow, Steve,” Clint chimed in, finally picking himself up off the table top. There was a red crease mark across his forehead where he’d been lying on his arm. He leaned back in his chair, putting himself next to Natasha. “You don’t write, you don’t call, and then you just show up with a boy your mother and I haven’t even approved of.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at being called a mother and planted a foot firmly on the back of Clint’s chair before shoving hard. The chair collided with the table and he let out a small _oof_.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce cut in, “but can this wait until after Steve tells us why we need to go digging up dirt on one of New York’s biggest politicians?”

Steve started to speak, but before he could say anything, Bucky stepped forward and spoke for himself. The look on his face was so determined, Steve never would have known that less than an hour ago he’d been talking himself into a panic attack if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

“He’s threatening me,” Bucky said, speaking not just to Bruce but to everyone in the room. “I’m a sex worker. And Alexander Pierce has been my client for the last two years. Last night, I rejected his advances when he tried to take things beyond our professional relationship, and now he’s threatening to expose me.”

Bucky’s words were strong and straight to the point. So much so that they shocked even the most talkative of Steve’s team into momentary silence. Whatever they had been expecting, it probably hadn’t been that. Except possibly for Natasha, who looked unphased by any of it.

Tony, again, was the first to break the silence. “You know Pepper has never liked that man. And she’s like a golden retriever. She can tell the good people from the bad people just by looking at ‘em.”

“I’m sorry, Tony, but did you just compare your fiancée to a _dog_?” Natasha asked.

“Looks like blackmail’s really going around tonight,” Clint muttered.

“Pepper is fully aware of what she agreed to marry into,” Tony told Natasha with faux disdain. “You.” Tony pointed at Bucky, who met his gaze evenly. “I have questions. A lot of them. None of them family-friendly. But that can wait ‘til after. Natasha? Bruce?”

Tony turned and walked to the back wall to pull up a floating computer display. He typed something in, highlighted something else, his eyes scanning the words on the screen faster than Steve could keep up with. Natasha and Bruce joined him, and Tony did something complicated with his hands to split the screen into thirds. Together, the three of them went to work at once, scrolling through files with finesse, searching out Pierce’s hidden secrets.

“That one’s yours,” Tony called to Steve, nodding over his shoulder at Clint. The three of them had gotten to work so fast that Steve had wondered if they even remembered that he, Bucky, and Clint were still in the room.

Steve turned to Clint who was still sitting by the table, his feet now kicked up, with his dirty sneakers resting on the polished wooden tabletop. “Clint,” he said. “I’m going to try and get Pierce to come here to the Tower. I was thinking the east meeting room. The small one. Can you…?”

Clint’s smile was on the verge of scary. He looked positively gleeful to be plotting against someone like this. “Best vantage point in the entire building. Don’t worry, Cap, I’ve got you.” He practically bounced up out of his seat and scampered from the room to collect his gear.

The feeling like his heart was going to spontaneously burst in his chest or melt into red-hot magma, or maybe just stop altogether was back. Bucky came up beside him. His presence was a comfort that Steve didn’t realize he needed until that moment, a solid weight anchoring him down even as he threatened to float away. Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve’s back.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, wiping his eyes surreptitiously. “God, I’m the one who should be asking you that.”

Bucky thought for a moment before answering. “I think I’m okay. You’ve got good friends,” he said, nodding at Tony and Natasha and Bruce. As they watched, Tony pumped his fist into the air and made a sound of triumph before moving on to the next document. “And I forgive you, by the way. For what you mentioned before, in the elevator. Not asking before you brought me here. Just don’t make it a habit.”

“Never.” Steve kissed Bucky softly, and didn’t miss the very distinct gagging sound that Tony made across the room.

Steve inhaled deeply, steeling himself for what was about to come. He kissed Bucky again and regretted that he couldn’t do it a third time. There were things they had to do.

Breaking away from Bucky reluctantly, Steve pulled out his phone. Natasha watched him do it, and then pulled something up on her screen and showing it to him. It was a phone number. Steve dialed quickly and listened to the line trill in his ear.

“Hello?”

Steve wasn’t surprised at all to hear that Pierce sounded fully awake. After all, he knew what the man had been up doing when he should have been in bed.

“Senator Pierce,” he said.

“Yes.” Pierce’s voice was wary, a touch of annoyance in the tone. “Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

_Do you?_ Steve wanted to ask. Instead, he put on his brightest, most PR-friendly Captain America voice. “It’s Steve, sir. Steve Rogers.”

“Oh!” Pierce’s tone changed so fast that Steve wondered if he had gotten whiplash. For all intents and purposes, his voice was pleasant, but to Steve, it only sounded condescending. “Captain Rogers. Is everything alright? What can I do for you this evening?”

“Senator, I’ve actually been thinking about your proposal,” Steve told, trying his best to sound eager. “The one we discussed at the party the other night. Your legislation? I’d love to be the face of your campaign, if you’d have me. I’m awfully sorry about the late hour, but I’ve been up all night working on ideas and... I’d really love to show you. Do you think you could come to the Tower?”

“Now?”

“If it’s too inconvenient…”

“No, no.” Steve could practically hear Pierce’s annoyance at the inconvenience warring with his desire to have Captain America backing his plans, but in the end, Pierce’s business sense won out. “I’ll be there in a moment, Captain.”

“Thank you, Senator. I really can’t wait to show you what I’ve got planned.”

Steve ended the call before Pierce could respond, not wanting to spend a second more listening to the man if he didn’t have to. While he’d been talking, Bucky had given him space, whether out of desire to let Steve work in peace or a desire to avoid Pierce Steve didn’t know. Either way, Steve wouldn’t blame him. Bucky had wandered his way across the room and was standing next to Natasha, watching her work with a curious and delighted look on his face. Steve quickly joined them, hating to be the one to bring Bucky’s mood back down again.

“He’s on his way,” Steve said, and Natasha nodded and started clearing out her screen, transferring documents and saving them. Beside her, Bruce started to do the same.

“Tony,” Natasha said, admonishment in her voice.

“But there’s so much good stuff here,” Tony whined. “I bet this guy’s porn search history is insane.” Natasha gave him a look. “But _mom_,” Tony insisted. “I’m having fun.”

“You can look at his porn history later,” she promised, rolling her eyes.

Tony closed down his screen, but not without making sure to first stick his tongue out at Natasha the minute she turned her back. He grabbed a tablet and powered it on before all of them made their way down to the conference room. The place where they would meet Pierce was a small, nondescript square room. Most of its real estate was taken up by a long table and several high-backed black leather chairs. The most notable feature of the room was the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made up one of the walls. Beyond them, the sky was still pitch black, broken up only by the lights of the surrounding buildings.

The team filed in silently, each of them having grown more serious now that it was almost time, though Steve certainly could have used a bit of humor just now. When Steve got to the door, he ushered Bucky in ahead of him. Bucky hesitated, a hand on the doorframe as he turned to ask, “Should I?”

“Only if you want to,” Steve told him gently. If it were Steve’s choice, Bucky wouldn’t be anywhere near this, anywhere near Alexander Pierce ever again. But he knew it wasn’t his choice to make. Taking a deep breath, Bucky nodded and stood a little straighter. You could have read his determination from across the room.

The rest of the team began to talk. They might even have been talking to Bucky, but their words flowed around Steve, none of it quite making it to his ears. He wondered again if he was doing the right thing. He had chosen in the heat of the moment to expose Bucky to these people, even if they were the ones he trusted most in the world. It was a choice that should have been Bucky’s.

Jarvis’ smooth, clipped voice filled the air around them announcing Senator Pierce’s arrival. Steve didn’t know if the AI was capable of anger, but if he wasn’t, then he was doing a damn good approximation. Steve felt his entire body tense with anticipation as adrenaline started to pump through him. He didn’t know where to stand. By the door to confront Pierce the moment he walked in? Or should he take a less aggressive stance and keep up the charade for a little bit longer? The more he thought, the more Steve wished that he’d stopped to think this through a little more.

He felt the lightest of touches on the back of his arm and glanced over. Natasha stood beside him, resting her slender fingers on his skin, a solid, warm support. For the first time all night, Steve’s head cleared as he looked at her. Her red hair was twisted back into a messy bun and she wasn’t wearing a speck of makeup. She’d come when Steve had called for help without a second thought. They all had. They had his back, and while he may have rushed Bucky headlong into this confrontation, at least they weren’t alone.

“Captain Rogers!”

Pierce strolled into the conference room like he owned it, and Steve felt his blood boil over in an instant. White-hot rage burned through him, leaving him raw and angry at the sight of the man. He hadn’t realized up to that point just exactly _how_ furious he was. He’d been far too focused on fixing the problem than dealing with the fallout. How Bucky looked so calm, Steve had no idea, and he had to cross his arms tightly over his chest to avoid pulling Bucky behind him.

The smile faded from Pierce’s face as he took in the room, saw the expression on Steve’s face, and the Avengers gathered around him. His eyes widened minutely when he caught sight of Bucky, and rage flashed across his handsome face, twisting it into something ugly.

“What is this?” Pierce asked. His voice was wary as his eyes darted around the room.

“Senator Pierce.” Steve stepped up, surprised that his voice was steady and calm and betrayed nothing about what was boiling under the surface. “We need your phone.”

Steve could almost see the moment when Pierce decided on his strategy. His entire body language changed. He dropped his defensive posture, letting his body relax and an easy smile cross his face. His tone was light-hearted, joking almost, as if he thought he could talk his way out of this. “I’m not sure what you all think is going on here, but whatever it is, I’m sure we can work it out.”

“The phone, now,” Natasha said coldly.

For the first time, Pierce openly acknowledged Bucky. “You haven’t been listening to him, have you?” He looked around at each of the team in turn, an expression on his face as if he couldn’t believe they would fall for this. “I don’t know how this man talked his way in here, but I know him. He’s a liar. A prostitute desperate for cash.”

“Senator,” Tony said shaking his head. “You’ve been naughty.”

Pierce’s face and hands twitched as he seemed to proceed through a litany of emotions. From disbelief to shock to angry to livid and back again all in the span of a few seconds. He was swiftly turning red, magenta flush rising from beneath his collar.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here or what you’ve told these people,” he said to Bucky, his voice low and threatening. “You’re nothing but a liar and a whore, and that’s not going to change.”

Steve launched himself into motion, trying to force himself between Pierce and Bucky, but Bucky pushed him roughly aside. “And you’re a sad old man who thinks money and a little bit of power entitles you to someone else’s body when really it doesn’t entitle you to shit.”

“You little-”

Several things happened at once. Pierce’s face flamed red and he reached for Bucky. At the same time, Steve grabbed Bucky by the shoulders, pulling him forcibly back, just as Clint appeared from where he’d been lying in wait behind the Senator. Before Pierce could figure out what was going on, Clint had him in an easy grip, his arms trapped at his sides.

Whatever semblance of control or composure Pierce had started with was long gone. “Let go of me!” he spat at Clint. “I’ll have every one of your asses in jail before you can blink. Even you, Stark!”

Undeterred by his struggling, Clint kept his hold on the Senator strong as Natasha stepped up and started to root through his pockets. She quickly found his phone and studied it, typing quickly and trying several different combinations until the screen finally lit up. She handed it off with a silent nod to Tony.

Tony took a look at the phone, swiping quickly through its contents. He let out a long, low whistle and little chuckle of glee when he looked at Pierce. “It’s like you’re _trying_ to make this easy for me. Who keeps all their accounts tied together like this, and on the _Cloud?_ Let’s just go ahead and delete this, and this, ooh and I think this one too.”

Pierce had been reduced to angry sputtering and half-threats as Tony quickly and thoroughly deleted the contents of his phone. Steve didn’t know exactly what he was doing and he didn’t care. He trusted Tony to make sure that Bucky would be alright. Instinctively, Steve pulled Bucky closer to him, and this time Bucky went willingly. The warmth of him at Steve’s side was more comforting than he would have imagined.

“Every one of you,” Pierce spat. “Every goddamn one of you. I’ll hang you out to dry. You think I can’t do that?”

“Well,” Bruce said. He’d been so quiet, hanging back behind everyone. But now he stepped up, Tony’s tablet in hand and a slightly amused expression on his face as he looked at the screen and then up at Pierce. “While you’re on the phone to the police to turn us in, make sure to tell them about all that charity money you’ve been embezzling.” Bruce scrolled a bit. “Or the inspector you paid off to use unsafe materials to build the apartments you rent out just because it was six months faster. Or the state prosecutor who somehow convinced every single one of the people suing you over unpaid labor to drop their cases.” Bruce read something else on the tablet and his eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he said to Pierce. “I don’t even want to _say_ this one.”

Pierce’s skin had gone from red to ashen grey, and his threats had stopped. With every crime that Bruce read off, his pallor grew worse and worse, until finally-

“I think he gets it,” Tony said. “But just in case his ears are as fucked up as the rest of them, Steve, you wanna lay it out for the good Senator?”

_Gladly_.

“You’re going to stop threatening Bucky,” Steve said, squaring up to Pierce, standing tall until he was towering over the man still in Clint’s grip. “You won’t go near him. You’ll lose his number. If you so much as even _think_ about him, we’ll know. And then that file is gonna find its way to some very important desks.”

Pierce had gone deadly still, all emotion drained from his face. “You’re going to regret what happened here tonight,” Pierce informed them all calmly. “You may not right now, but you will. And you.” He fixed his eyes on Bucky. “I _will_ be seeing you again.”

Steve hands started to come up. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but punching the smugness out of Pierce seemed like a good place to start. Something grabbed his hand though, before he could clench it into a fist. At his side, Bucky held onto him tightly and shook his head.

“He can’t do anything to me anymore, Steve.”

“Thank you so much for your cooperation, Senator!” Tony said brightly. “Clint will see you out to your car now.”

Clint perp-marched Pierce out of the room without ceremony, a gleeful expression on his face the entire way. It seemed like Tony had just made Clint’s night. For the people remaining in the room, a tense silence settled over them as they all looked at each other, each waiting for someone else to speak first. Steve was the one who finally broke the silence.

“Thank you.” There was a catch in his throat as he said it.

Tony waved off the sentiment. “I do have a question though,” he said, turning to look at Bucky. Bucky shrugged as if to say, _‘fire away’_. Tony pointed a finger in Steve’s direction. “What exactly do you see in a loser like this guy?”

Bucky grinned, and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds after days of rain. “He’s very pretty.”

Steve played along good-naturedly and made several sounds of protest as everyone started talking at once. He looked at Bucky and then looked at his friends and he felt his heart squeeze tightly in his chest. “Do you mind giving us a second?” Steve asked.

Natasha and Bruce made their way to the door, Natasha with a lingering hand on Steve’s chest as she passed. Tony took a little bit longer. He picked up the tablet that Bruce had discarded on the table, and in a very un-Tony like fashion he hesitated before handing it over to Bucky.

“I thought you should be the one to decide what to do with these,” he said quietly.

There were pictures on the screen. Dozens of them that Steve could see and more beyond that. They were all of Bucky; sleeping or smiling or eating, half-dressed, naked, in the shower. The list went on and on. Quite a few of the pictures were of Bucky and Pierce together, and they were clearly stills from a hidden video camera. There wasn’t a single picture where Bucky was looking at the camera.

Quietly, Bucky took the sight in, his eyes betraying nothing about how he felt. Steve watched as Bucky scrolled to the bottom of the page, hit select all, and then deleted the lot of them. “Thank you,” he said softly, handing the tablet back to Tony.

Tony shrugged and clapped Steve on the shoulder as he passed him. “Least I can do for you in exchange for taking this guy off our hands.”

Bucky waited until the door closed on Tony’s back before he turned to Steve. His eyes were red and his breathing was just a touch too fast still. Steve grabbed for both of his hands, lacing their fingers together, and realized there was a fine tremor in Bucky’s fingers that Steve hadn’t noticed before.

“Thank you,” he said. “For what you did. For what all of you did.”

“Don’t.” Steve shook his head. “It never would have happened in the first place if-”

“Don’t do that,” Bucky shut him down firmly. “It’s not your fault. It’s certainly not my fault. What Pierce did is on him and him alone. And besides,” he sighed and smiled, a little watery but definitely relieved. “At least it’s over, for now.”

Steve stepped forward, tipping his forehead against Bucky’s until their faces were so close that all he could hear or feel was Bucky. “He’s not just going to lie down and go away.”

Bucky closed his eyes and nodded. “He won’t,” he agreed, and when his eyes opened again, they were lit with confidence. “But we’ll be ready.”

Steve kissed him, slow and sweet.

“I’m glad you got drunk and accidentally tried to break into my apartment,” Steve said against Bucky’s lips. He felt Bucky smile broadly.

“So am I.”

Steve kissed him again. Outside the sky shifted, the first grey-purple streaks appearing to herald the rising sun.

“What do you say to breakfast?” Steve asked.

“I could go for some pancakes.” Bucky grinned at him. “Is that all you’re offering.”

Steve smiled back, and couldn’t believe his good luck. “For you? Anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this story and going on this incredible journey! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, you may have noticed that this story has been made part of a series! I will be working on a sequel in the future, so if you'd like to keep up with that please subscribe to the series so you can be notified when it starts posting! And in the meantime, I will also be posting short little extras and scenes of Steve and Bucky in between!
> 
> Thank you all so much!


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